


altarcations

by goldenthunderstorms



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Child Abuse, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I actually did research this time, I'm sorry they're always American but I hate writing british people, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Percy gets a loving family in all my modern fics it is law, Sharing a Bed, but I'm sure some things will be inaccurate anyway, but written by someone who has never seen married at first sight, does it count as slow burn if they're already married?, for a good number of things, just enjoy my attempts at a romcom, my friend explained the concept to me and I said "fic plot", so I made a knockoff show so I can do whatever I want, sorta - Freeform, this is basically a married at first sight au, yes they are swifties and yes I will bring it up in every fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25663633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenthunderstorms/pseuds/goldenthunderstorms
Summary: On impulse, Monty signs up for the reality show Altarcations. On the show, two strangers are set up by the show's experts and get married without any prior knowledge about the other. In truth, Monty only signed up to spite his father, who had been hounding him to get married for months now. Monty never really expected to be chosen for the show. And he definitely didn't expect to be set up with another man.
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Henry "Monty" Montague & Jeanne Le Brey, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton, Johanna Hoffman & Felicity Montague, Simmaa "Sim" Aldajah & Felicity Montague
Comments: 46
Kudos: 45





	1. the engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, my friends, to my newest multi-chapter impulse project. I've been very excited about this fic since I got the idea and I hope y'all love it as much as I do!  
> This fic is basically a Married At First Sight AU except I've never actually watched Married At First Sight so I made up my own TV show that does essentially the same thing! A huge thank you to @em_gray for coming up with the show's name. It is still the best pun I've ever heard.  
> This fic is going to be four parts but they're all going to be pretty long! This first one is something of a prologue. It's on the shorter side and (I apologize in advance) doesn't have any mercy interactions but I promise to make up for that in the rest of the fic.  
> I hope y'all enjoy!! Love y'all!!

[ _fic playlist!_ ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63AbhooOOjdKLlMQCEwSru?si=FrJ094PhRHCftfl8BHsZ7Q)

**monty**

“This is, by far, the _stupidest thing_ you have _ever_ done,” Felicity says when I pick up the phone. Not even a greeting. I should have expected this much after I texted her about what I had done, but it’s still not the way I want to start my morning. I’m still in the middle of making coffee. I put Felicity on speaker and set my phone on the counter. “And that’s saying something.”

“What? Father’s been hounding me to get married for months.”

Even though I can’t see Felicity, I can feel the look that she’s giving me. “He’s been hounding you to _settle_ . With one of the pretty daughters of his colleagues. Not a _stranger_!”

“A stranger would be more tolerable than some of those girls,” I point out.

She doesn’t have an argument. “He’s still going to kill you when you tell him.”

“Who says that I have to tell him? I don’t even know if I’ll be chosen yet. The only scenario in which I would _have_ to tell him is if I actually get married, which—”

“Would be a New Testament miracle,” Felicity supplies.

“Look at you,” I say. “Catholic school really did make an impression.”

Felicity makes a gagging sound and I laugh. “Really, though, what if you _do_ get chosen? How do you think Father would feel about you marrying a girl you’ve never met?”

“If she’s rich, he won’t have a problem with it.”

“Fair point,” Felicity says. “But was there even any thought process behind this? Or did you sign up last night, wasted?”

I laugh. “Felicity, if I was wasted last night, I would’ve done something much more stupid.”

Felicity makes a noise of agreement. We’re both silent for a few moments, remembering the last very stupid thing I did while I was wasted. I’ve gotten smarter about my drinking since then, though. Less brazen about it. As far as anyone but Felicity knows, I’m nine months sober.

I finish making my coffee and hoist myself onto the kitchen island. “There _was_ some reasoning behind it if you’re so interested,” I say. “I thought it would be an interesting way for Father to get what he wants.”

“Isn’t that a little unfair to the poor soul you might end up marrying?”

I shrug even though she can’t see me. “Most of those marriages end in divorces anyway.”

“So you just did this for shits and giggles?”

“That about sums it up.” I sip my coffee.

Felicity sighs. “Monty,” she says in the same tone she always uses when she thinks I’m being a veritable dumbass.

“Felicity,” I say in the same tone I always use to mock her _veritable dumbass_ voice.

“You know I usually like watching your idiotic decisions play out and backfire like you’re my personal court jester—"

“Love you too, dear sister.”

“—but this seems _incredibly_ idiotic. You’re going to get fucked over. There are infinite ways this could go wrong.”

“Like what?”

“Your stranger-wife could murder you for your money.”

“I’m fine with that,” I say. “As long as she doesn’t get caught. If she can pull it off, more power to her. I want to be on _Buzzfeed Unsolved_ ten years from now.”

“Oh my god,” Felicity groans. “I can’t believe you signed up for _A Disney Princess’s Idea of Dating_.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“That’s what it is!” she says defensively.

“This is why I don’t run my ideas past you.”

“You really should. I’m probably 90% of your impulse control.”

“Felicity, when have you ever known me to have impulse control?”

“My point exactly.”

“The damage is already done, Feli. I highly doubt I’ll be married this time next year.”

“I just can’t believe you did this.”

“Consider this,” I say. I take a long swig of coffee, ignoring Felicity’s sigh. “What if I meet the love of my life on that show? What if we’re married for years to come?”

Felicity snickers. “Then I just feel bad for her.”

“Well fuck you then,” I say, which just makes her snort. “I didn’t need this so early in the morning.”

“Monty, it’s almost noon.”

“Your point?”

“My point is that I really pity whoever you could end up married to for six months.”

“Okay, thank you, Felicity!” I say, and hang up on her.

Despite what Felicity says, this really wasn’t my worst idea. If anything, I think it’s rather clever of me.

My father has been hounding me for months about getting married. He’s tried to set me up with a few of his colleagues’ daughters but, shockingly, no one wants to set their daughter up with Henry Montague’s troubled son.

I suppose my father’s urgency makes sense. He was already married and on his way to inheriting my grandfather’s oil empire at twenty-five. I’m twenty-five, single, and I’m definitely not taking on the family business anytime soon. My father seems to think that finding a proper wife of my own is a step in that direction and he’s been rather impatient about it. So of course, I went for the quickest possible way to get married: _Altarcations_.

Admittedly, Felicity may have been onto something with her nickname for it. _Altarcations_ is not only one of the worst puns in existence. It is also a TV show where two strangers get married having never met and not even knowing the other’s name. When you apply for the show you fill out a questionnaire and later, you’ll be contacted by experts who look into your life a bit more if you’re being considered and then, if you’re selected, match you with whoever they find you most compatible with. Then you have two weeks to plan a wedding (though a lot of that is handled by the show), and you meet your new spouse at the altar. Then there’s a honeymoon and all of the other newlywed stuff and, after six months, you decide on whether you want to stay married or divorce. Some couples stay together, but most don’t.

I mainly signed up to spite my father. On the off chance that I _do_ get chosen, I think his reaction would be priceless. But I didn’t even expect to hear back from the show. So you can imagine my surprise when I’m reached out to and asked to go in for an interview with one of their experts.

The expert is only referred to as Scipio, which I will admit had me skeptical about his credentials, but the simple office that I meet him in is only decorated by a wall near-covered in degrees, all bearing his name. He’s a large man with brown skin, dark eyes, and a trimmed beard. He unsettles me at first, but it’s hard to stay on edge when he has such a calm demeanor and soothing voice.

“This is going to take a while, so you ought to get comfortable, Henry,” he says. I must make a face because he asks: “Not Henry, then?”

“Monty is fine,” I say.

“Alright, Monty.” Scipio pulls out a notepad. I wonder if this is what therapy is like. “I’ll be frank with you. These questions are going to get pretty personal but you should be as honest with us as possible. We are trying to set you up with your future spouse after all. If you don’t tell us, we’ll probably find out through background checks anyway, but we like to give you the option of honesty.” He pulls out a pen, readying it above his clipboard. “Let’s start with the simpler questions, alright?”

Scipio goes down the list of questions. The first batch is pretty basic; questions like what I do for a living (work under my father), do I rent or own a house (the rent is paid by my father, but rent), and why I signed up for _Altarcations_ (though the blunt answer is spite, I say it’s because I’ve never had much success in dating, which isn’t a lie). It’s all rather casual and simple. The cameras set up around the room make me a bit uncomfortable at first but I’m able to mostly ignore them. It’s all smooth sailing until Scipio gets to family-related questions.

“Do you have a good relationship with your parents?” Scipio asks.

I can’t help myself. I outright laugh. It’s not a short chuckle, either. I probably laugh harder and longer than what would be considered appropriate in response to that question. When I’ve stopped laughing, the best answer that I can come up with is: “God, does anyone?”

Scipio, however, doesn’t look amused. “I’m guessing that’s a _no_?” he asks flatly.

“No,” I say.

“Then let’s talk about that,” Scipio says.

 _I’d rather do anything else_ , I think, but I don’t say anything.

“How are things between you and your mother then?”

“Oh, they’re…fine,” I say. That’s the best way to describe me and my mother’s arm’s-length relationship. “We’re not close by any means but we get along alright.”

“Would you say you love your mother?”

 _Love?_ I’m not even sure my family knows what that word means. My silence must be telling enough because Scipio writes something on the notepad.

“How about your father?” he asks.

“We…” I trail off. What do I even say? “We have our quarrels,” I decide on, shrugging. “I’m sure all fathers are rough with their sons just…some more than most. Just old fashioned, I suppose, always worried about legacies and inheritances. Great expectations come with great consequences and all that.” I shrug again. My father would have cuffed me by now for doing it so much.

“And by _rough_ do you mean… _violent_?” Scipio asks.

What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Apparently nothing, because Scipio scrawls something onto his notepad. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“That’s about all the answer I needed,” Scipio says. “Why don’t we circle back to the family subject?”

I’m about to protest but Scipio carries on.

“How would you describe your drinking habits?”

This question I am ready for. “Depends on when you ask me,” I joke.

But again, Scipio isn’t taking jokes. He just looks at me expectantly.

“I used to have a bit of a drinking problem,” I admit.

“Used to? So you’re recovering?”

“Nine months sober,” I say, smiling. The dimples always do the trick.

“Congratulations, Monty,” Scipio says.

I wave a hand dismissively. “Let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Alright,” Scipio says. He marks something down before he continues. “How important to you is sex in a relationship?”

I laugh again, relieved. This is a topic I’m much more comfortable with.

Scipio raises his eyebrows. “And that means…?”

I grin. “I wouldn’t consider it important enough to be a deal-breaker, but I don’t think I’d adjust well to a life of celibacy.”

“You’re experienced then?”

“Considerably,” I say. He did want me to be as honest as possible, after all.

Scipio chuckles and writes something down. “Alright, tell me about that.”

The interview really does take hours. By the time I’m done, I’m running a little late for dinner with my family.

When I finished college, my father realized he didn’t have much of an excuse to keep me in his house anymore. I had been asking him to let me move out for years, but Father never allowed it. He claimed that it was easier for me to focus on my studies without having to pay for an apartment but we both know it was really so that he could keep an eye on me and keep me within a swing’s reach. After college, though, my father found an apartment for me. He pays the rent and all of the bills (and likes to often remind me that he can stop at any time). To continue keeping an eye on me, I’m required to come to my Father’s house for dinner once a week under the guise of my mother missing me, although she probably sees more of me now than she did when I lived with her.

I make it to my father’s house just in time. A member of the house staff lets me in and tells me that my mother is waiting in the dining room.

When I find her, Mother takes me by my arms and kisses my cheek. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say, which makes her smile. 

She calls for my family. My siblings are the first to come downstairs, soon followed by my father, looking dull as always. None of us are ever _enthusiastic_ about family dinners except my little brother Adrian.

“Monty!” Adrian throws himself around my legs (okay, _legs_ is an exaggeration, but I’m not ready to admit that my seven-year-old brother is almost to my chest).

“Hey, Goblin,” I say, slinging an arm around Adrian’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. Adrian makes his normal sound of protest at the nickname but doesn’t pull away.

“Adrian, let go of your brother,” my father commands. He never shouts at Adrian. He never has to. Adrian is panicky, even for a seven-year-old, and practically jumps away from me at the sound of my father’s stern voice. When my father’s back is turned, I roll my eyes so that Adrian can see, drawing a smile out of him. I really shouldn’t teach Adrian to openly disrespect my father—it never did me any good. But I can’t stand to watch my father do to Adrian exactly what he did to me. If the least I can do is make Adrian smile, then that’s what I’ll do.

My mother ushers all of us to the table. We sit and are served whatever pasta my Mother had the cook make. She tries to keep conversation afloat and fails spectacularly. Eventually, she settles on talking about her and my father’s social circle.

“You know,” she says in what would pass for a casual tone if I didn’t know her well, “Caroline Peele just got engaged.”

“Good for her,” I say mildly. In truth, I couldn’t care less. Caroline is the younger sister of my high school tormentor (or hookup, depending on the day) Richard. Richard got married halfway through college, so it only surprises me that it took Caroline this long.

“When will we be able to say the same about you, Henry?” my father asks. His voice was just as mild as mine, but silence falls over the room.

Except for Felicity, who has to suppress her laughter.

“The same goes for you, Felicity,” Mother says. “I want grandchildren someday, you know. Before I’m too old to appreciate them.”

“Mother, you aren’t even fifty,” I say gently.

“I will be by the time either of you gets married,” she retorts.

Felicity and I both make faces. “You always have Adrian to rely on,” I say. Adrian makes a sound of protest that we all ignore.

“It’s time that you both settled and got serious,” my father says.

“Serious?” Felicity asks. “I’m about to start medical school. I hardly have time for dating.”

My father shakes his head. He’s never approved of Felicity’s aspirations to be a doctor. He thinks that it’s not a _woman’s career_ . (I suggested that I could take up a _woman’s career_ the first time he said that and got a good backhand for it later that evening.)

“Alright,” my mother says as she always does when she feels a fight beginning. “Felicity, I understand that your career is important. I just want you to leave room in your life for…other things.”

“What about Monty?” Felicity asks flatly. “He isn’t doing anything important.”

“I resent that!” I say.

“Henry, Felicity, that’s enough,” my father cuts in. 

We all fall silent.

“I expect both of you to settle down sooner rather than later,” he continues. Somehow, dinner almost always turns into being lectured. “You’ve been wasting time on silly diversions.”

“Father,” Felicity starts. “Medical school isn’t _silly_ —”

“Don’t talk back to me, Felicity.” He fixes her with a glare and she simpers. Felicity has always had the most nerve with our father. He won’t lay a hand on her, so she never takes his threats seriously. Still, she knows better than to argue with him (most times). “Even though I allow you to go to school to pursue your medical degree, I still expect you to settle into your place as a wife and a mother.”

I see Felicity suppress an eye roll. Though our parents didn’t send me, I know Catholic school force-fed the whole man-provides-woman-raises-family package, and now Felicity is asexual and atheist. Never let it be said Catholic school doesn’t have results.

When silence descends again, Mother scrambles to alleviate. “Adrian, dear, why don’t you tell us about your day at school?”

Adrian chatters on about his day until we’ve all finished enough of our food to excuse ourselves. Felicity, ever the master of subtlety, follows me as I make my way out.

“So you’re really not going to tell them that you might be getting married?” she asks.

I turn to look at her. “What? No, why would I do that?”

“You had that interview today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m _getting married_.”

“So you’re only going to tell them when it’s _actually_ happening and the wedding is going to be in two weeks?”

“Yes, exactly,” I say.

Felicity sighs and rolls her eyes. “Stupidest thing you’ve ever done,” she reminds me.

I roll my eyes in return. “Lighten up, Felicity, it’s not like it’s even going to happen.”

I start to wish that I had placed bets with Felicity.

I have officially been narrowed down to the final twenty of _Altarcations_ contestants. This phase includes having a rather terrifying woman snoop through my apartment. I’m not very concerned about the snooping—I don’t have a lot of things hidden away to begin with, and I’ve gotten rather good at hiding my alcohol in case my father decides to make a stop by to inspect the place and make sure it’s ‘up to his standards’. That’s why my walls are bare and all of the furnishings are so…dull. None of it was by my design.

The woman sent to look through my apartment introduces herself as Helena Robles. She’s a tall, pretty woman with long dark hair and darker eyes. She scares me a bit. She’s definitely the kind of woman I would flirt with over drinks. The thought crosses my mind—the flirting with her, not the drinking—but I realize that flirting with the woman evaluating me for my marriage is probably not the best idea. Also, she’s trailed by cameras everywhere she goes that I’m trying to ignore. I’m supposed to act “completely natural” but it’s hard with a cameraman breathing down your neck. The cameras in Scipio’s office weren’t as unnerving because they were set up, stationary, easy to ignore. These are _not_.

“Your apartment is very bland, Mister Montague,” she says as she looks around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets. Helena speaks with a slight accent that makes me want to ask where she’s from if I didn’t expect her to slap me for it.

“I guess you could say that,” I say.

“You don’t seem to have any…real food.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. “I’m…not much of a cook,” I manage. It’s true that I don’t have much that can’t be microwaved or thrown in the oven, but it’s not like I know how to do much else. I’m not even sure my father knows how to cook, or if kitchen staff has cooked for him his whole life too. But I don’t see much point in learning. I never have anyone to cook for and I get by as is. I don’t eat much anyway.

Helena writes something down. She has a clipboard that I haven’t been able to sneak a glance at. She looks up at me again. “No pictures of friends or family?” Helena asks.

I shake my head. “I just don’t have that many, I guess,” I say.

Helena studies me for a moment before nodding. She writes something else down. “It’s a very nice apartment,” she says. “Your father pays for it?”

“He does,” I say. I realize how it makes me sound but it’s not like I can lie about it. Again, I try to ignore the cameras.

“Did he choose the furnishings as well?”

I’m taken aback for a moment. “Yes,” I finally say.

Helena nods again and writes something else. “Does your father choose what goes in your apartment?”

“To an extent.”

“What would you put in here if you could choose?”

“I don’t know,” I surprise myself by saying. Something about Helena’s piercing gaze makes it easy to be honest with her, though I don’t like that.

Helena nods (she does a lot of that), scribbles something down, and moves on to my bedroom. She goes straight to my closet and opens it. My closet is a dichotomy. One side holds clothes that I would wear to work or my father’s house: simple button-ups and polos and slacks. The other side holds clothes that are more to my tastes: patterned button-ups and crop tops and blazers that my father deemed “too colorful” and anything else I’d get cuffed for wearing.

“So you _are_ hiding a personality in there somewhere,” Helena says, smiling.

That makes me laugh for some reason. “What do you mean?”

“The whole minimalist aesthetic didn’t seem to match… _anything_ you’ve told us about you. It had me a little worried, I’ll admit.”

“I promise that I’m not as boring as my apartment is,” I say.

Helena shrugs. “It’s not me you have to keep that promise to.”

Today is not the kind of day for any more surprises. I’m tired after work, my nerves frayed after my father dropped by my office. He didn’t hurt me, but the warning signs were there. Apparently, I haven’t been “pulling my weight” which isn’t untrue. I don’t know what he expects from me in a job that I never wanted and don’t care about. I do know it doesn’t matter what I want though, and I should start performing better, or he’ll have my head.

So, you can imagine my unease when I get to my apartment building and see an _Altarcations_ van in the parking lot. I realize that, unless one of my neighbors has also applied, this could mean that I’m getting _married_.

I don’t want to deal with this. I really don’t. I want to curl up on my couch with the most alcoholic cocktail I can take without getting totally wasted while watching even shittier reality TV, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. As soon as I pull into my parking space, people start climbing out of the van. And they have cameras. I briefly entertain the thought of pulling a hit and run on the _Altarcations_ van, but it’s not like they wouldn’t know it was me, and that’s a lot of trouble to go to to avoid social interaction only to have it blow up in my face later.

So, I grit my teeth and get ready to grin and bear it.

As soon as I get out of my car, I’m ambushed by Helena and a camera crew.

“Monty!” she says. “Congratulations, you’ve been chosen as part of _Altarcations_ ’s next couple!”

“Really? That’s…wow.” I have no idea what to say. Even though I had my suspicions this was coming, I wasn’t really prepared to _react_ to it, especially with cameras in my face, though I should have expected those too. I imagine the cameras are only going to get more frequent.

“How do you feel?” Helena asks.

“Surprised, mostly,” I say with a laugh.

“I’m sure,” Helena says. “You weren’t expecting to get chosen?”

“Not at all,” I admit. And it’s true. And I’m already starting to wonder how the fuck I’m going to explain this to my parents.

Apparently, I’ll be explaining over dinner, on camera. That’ll go over well. On the bright side, with the entire camera crew there, there will be too many witnesses for my father to get really angry with me. But on the downside, with the entire camera crew there, my family is going to suspect that something is up right from the start.

This is going to be a disaster.

Thankfully, my father always comes down for dinner just before we start. Maybe he thinks that he shouldn’t have to wait on anyone but all he’s doing is sparing us from his presence and letting me work on my mother without him around.

“Henry?” she asks as soon as I step in, followed by the cameras. “What’s going on?”

“Mother,” I say, giving her my best smile. It works a little. “I have a bit of a surprise.”

Her frown only deepens. “What surprise?”

“Well, more like news.”

“Henry,” she says again, her voice getting strained.

I take her hands. “Trust me, alright?”

Mother still looks like she has her misgivings but she nods. I don’t know what part of full-fledged adulthood means my mother starting to be present in my life again, but it definitely comes in handy at times like these.

When my siblings come down for dinner, they don’t even notice the cameras at first. Our dining room isn’t small and there is plenty of space for the camera crew to set up without crowding us. Adrian does notice though and asks.

“What’re those for?” he asks me, pulling himself closer to me. Adrian is shy around strangers and especially camera shy.

“I’ve got news, Goblin.”

Felicity’s face lights up at hearing that. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” I say. “But I want it to be a surprise,” I say pointedly.

Felicity grins. “You are so _fucked_.”

“Language, Felicity!” Mother scolds.

When the time comes for all of us to sit down for dinner, I notice the tremor in my hands. This is a terrible idea. I should have shut the whole thing down the first time Helena showed up at my door. But now I’m stuck and soon my father is going to walk through that doorway and sit down and I’m going to have to explain what I’ve done and hope the cameras are enough to keep him from going ballistic.

But even then, I won’t be safe. I’m never safe. The cameras won’t stop him from calling me in at work or calling me back to the estate in a day or two. The cameras won’t stop him from disowning me on the spot if it really comes to that

 _One thing at a time_ , I tell myself, because having a panic attack on camera would _not_ be a good look for me.

My father finally comes down for dinner and spots the cameras immediately.

“Eleanor,” he says, glaring at my mother. “What’s going on?”

My mother, bless her, doesn’t crumble under his gaze. “Join us for dinner, dear. There’s a surprise.”

He frowns. “What kind of surprise?”

“I’m afraid that I don’t know myself,” Mother admits.

Well, there goes my short-lived immunity. My father looks over at the three of us but Adrian is too young for such scheming and Felicity’s unabashed grin makes it obvious that she’s not the one responsible. “Henry?” my father asks, his voice already so hard that I almost flinch.

“Yes,” I say. My voice comes out high and wavering. I clear my throat. “Pay no mind to the cameras. I have some news.”

“News,” my father echoes, skeptical.

“Henry,” my mother cuts in. My father and I both look at her when she doesn’t make it clear who she’s speaking to. “Sit, please.”

My father joins us at the table and dinner is served. Miraculously, we get through about ten minutes of pleasant conversation before my father demands to know what my news is.

“Well,” I begin. They all stare at me expectantly. “I suppose there’s no easy way to say this but…I’m getting married.”

For a moment, there is only shock. Everyone except Felicity reels back.

“Surprise,” I say weakly.

Adrian, of all people, is the first to break the silence. “You’re getting _married_?” he asks. “When?” At least he looks excited about the news.

“Ah, in two weeks,” I say.

“ _Two weeks_ !” That brings my mother back to herself. “I’m sorry, you’re getting married in _two weeks_ ? What— _How_ —” We all stare at her. It isn’t like my mother to stammer, “I don’t understand,” she finally manages. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Yes, well, that’s the thing.” I avoid her gaze. “I’m not.”

“I still can’t believe they _found_ someone for you!” Felicity blurts.

“I still don’t understand,” Mother cuts in. “What does your sister mean _found someone_ ? What did you _do_ , Henry?”

“Mother,” I say, desperately trying to mollify her. “How familiar are you with the show _Altarcations_?”

She processes that. Then, the realization dawns on her face. “Is that what these cameras are for? You’re marrying a _complete stranger_ ? For _television_?”

“I know it sounds bad but—”

“Henry, when I said I wanted you to get married, this is not what I—”

“Enough!” As usual, my father’s voice causes all of us to shut up. He turns to me. I can tell that he’s trying to keep it together, acutely aware of the cameras. The look on his face is merely displeased, but I know that hardening of his jaw like I know my own heartbeat. “Henry, explain this to me. You’re getting married in two weeks _how_?”

“There’s a reality show called _Altarcations_ in which two people are chosen to get married because of their compatibility. I’ve been chosen and in two weeks, I’m going to get married.” I can tell from my father’s face that the more I speak, the more absurd it sounds. I know that’s how it sounds to me. In two weeks I’m getting married to a _stranger_. What was I thinking?

“Do you know anything _about_ this person you’re marrying?” my mother asks, dread obvious on her face.

I shake my head. “We meet on the wedding day.”

“Oh, my,” Mother says, fanning herself. I think she might swoon.

“What possessed you to think this was a good idea, Henry?” my father asks.

“Well, you did say you wanted me to get married,” I offer weakly. Not the witty loophole I had thought it was when I was signing up.

There it is. The twitch. The almost imperceptible movement of his hand that makes it clear he wants to swing at me. If there’s one thing that my father can’t stand (aside from my general existence) it’s when I give him an attitude. “Henry,” he says. Sometimes I think the only reason he says my name so much is because he knows I hate it. “I think it’s time for the cameras to go.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I all but squeak.

My father shakes his head. “I won’t permit you to go through with this, Henry.”

“Well, I’m not asking for permission.” 

Talking back to my father in any way isn’t in my best interests right now, but I’m panicking a little. As much as I hate to admit it, Felicity was right. This is the worst idea I’ve ever had. I want to run and hide in a dark corner somewhere and drink something that’ll burn its way down my throat and make me forget tonight even happened.

My father stands up and I fight the urge to flinch preemptively. I think he’s about to storm out again but he doesn’t. “I won’t tolerate this kind of disrespect in my own house. I want the cameras gone _right now_ or I’m calling the authorities.” He doesn’t even have to do so much as raise his voice.

That gets the crew moving immediately and they rush out. My father watches them go, disgust plain on his face. He turns back to me and I think he’s going to demand that I meet him in his study but he just shakes his head. 

“This conversation isn’t over, Henry,” he says. But without saying anything else, he goes upstairs.

My mother sighs, pressing her palms into her eyes. “I hope that stunt was worth it, Henry,” she mutters exasperatedly, which is about as close to anger as my mother gets.

“Stunt?” I ask.

She looks up. “You were serious? You’re getting married to a total stranger? In two weeks?”

“I certainly wasn’t kidding,” I say.

She gapes at me, then snaps her mouth shut. Without another word to me, she stands as well and follows my father.

“I hope I can come to your wedding, Monty,” Adrian says, voice small.

I turn and look at him. Adrian looks something short of terrified. Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one in this house living in fear anymore. Even if they weren’t meant for him, maybe Adrian saw those tells in my father too and feels the panic they induce.

“Me too,” I say. 

Adrian stands, hugs me, and retreats to his bedroom. Then, it’s just me and Felicity.

“Well,” I say, “That all went about as expected.”

“I think it went better, actually,” she says.

“What did you expect?”

Felicity shrugs. “I fully expected someone to throw something.”

I sigh. “This really was my worst idea.”

“Definitely,” she agrees. “But I think it’ll be such a disaster that our parents will think twice before badgering me to get married.”

I spend Sunday drunk. I keep thinking about how my father said our _conversation wasn’t over_ and how I have no choice but to face him tomorrow at work until I can’t bear thinking about it anymore. I lay in bed, drinking lemonade that is more vodka than lemonade, listening to Harry Styles, and texting Jeanne to distract myself from the anxiety building inside.

Jeanne isn’t exactly a friend but isn’t exactly a hookup. We’re friendly enough but we really only interact when we have nothing better to do and that almost always leads to hooking up. She even offered to come over today to _get my mind off things_ when I mentioned being stressed, but I don’t fully trust that my father won’t show up unannounced. So, we text about nothing important until I say _screw it_ and ask.

**Monty: okay can I ask you a weird question**

**Jeanne: sure but nothing too weird because I don’t want to have to ghost you for a few weeks**

**Monty: well,,,,**

**Jeanne: ???????**

**Monty: how would you feel about coming to my wedding**

**Jeanne: I’m SORRY?**

**Jeanne: WEDDING????**

**Jeanne: HAVE YOU BEEN DATING SOMEONE THIS WHOLE TIME??????**

**Monty: NO**

**Monty: i may be a man whore but i’m not a cheater j e a n n e**

**Jeanne: THEN HOW ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED**

**Monty: you’re familiar with altarcations**

**Jeanne: oh my god**

**Jeanne: OH MY GOD**

**Jeanne: you’re going to be on altarcations????? and you’re inviting me to the wedding???? aren’t those like super exclusive to close friends and family?????**

**Monty: my list of friends is short okay**

**Jeanne: aw baby thats sad**

**Jeanne: but of course I’ll come**

**Jeanne: when is it?????**

**Monty: not totally sure yet but in like two weeks**

**Monty: planning starts tomorrow**

**Jeanne: just saying I will also totally come to suit fittings with you**

**Monty: ????**

**Jeanne: until you’re a married man I’m not passing up any opportunities to see you undress**

I seriously consider calling in sick Monday, but I can only avoid the brunt of my father’s wrath for so long. I try to be stealthy when I come in for work and almost make it to my office undetected. But my office is right down the hall from my father’s, meaning that he _always_ knows when I clock in. He doesn’t even let me set my stuff down before he leans out of his own office.

“Henry,” he says firmly. He nods towards his office. “Come sit down.”

I would literally rather run myself through the paper shredders. But I wouldn’t fit through the paper shredders in my father’s office, so I follow him into the office and sit in a leather chair facing his desk. My father’s office is always freezing, which does nothing for the icy dread seeping into my veins.

My father stands behind his desk because he can never let me feel anything but towered over. “I’m sure that you know what this is about,” he says.

I swallow. “Yes, sir.”

“I won’t drag this out, Henry,” he continues. “I am going to give you more mercy than you have ever deserved from me. I’m going to go against my better judgment and let you go through with this foolish venture instead of cutting you off entirely because I know that in the end, you will come crawling back. When this ‘marriage’ fails, as we both know it will, you are going to get serious. You are going to become dedicated to this job and to taking on the company, you are going to settle down with whatever woman I deem suitable for you that _will_ tolerate you, and these ridiculous cries for attention are going to cease. Do you understand me?” When I say nothing, he repeats. “Do you understand me, Henry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll receive no support from me or the rest of this family during this venture. I will not be attending your ‘wedding’ and you will not be welcome in my house while you are married.”

This wouldn’t sound so awful except for the fact that the only time I ever see Adrian is at his house once a week. “Father,” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I’ve made my decision, Henry. You’ve defied me _again_ and you have to face the consequences. I’m already being kinder than I should be.”

I nod. He’s right. If he really wanted to, my father already could have rendered me jobless and homeless in one swing. But no, he’s just barring me from my favorite sibling for a few months.

My father studies me and I fight the urge to look away. “That will be all.”

I nod again and stand. I head for the door and my father rounds the corner of his desk to see me out. I’m a little surprised he didn’t bother to hit me, though he does seem to prefer unpaid bills to bruises as a form of punishment these days. Maybe he’s mellowed with age, or maybe he just can’t be bothered.

I’m almost out the door when I stop. “Would it be a bad time to tell you I’m going to have to take next week and the week after off?” I ask.

I _do_ get hit for saying that. Only once, though. “Get out of my office, Henry,” he says. But he doesn’t say no to the two weeks off, so I don’t need to be told twice.

That evening, I drive to the same offices where I had my interview with Scipio. I’m met by Helena, who leads me down a hallway.

“I’ll be honest, you don’t have a lot of agency in the planning, but we try to take your and your fiance’s opinions into account,” she says. She stops in front of a door and pushes it open to what looks like a conference room. There’s a table set up with about twelve chairs—though Helena and I are the only ones here—and a lectern in front of a screen. “Have a seat in any of the chairs and we’ll start going through your options.”

I sit down on the side of the table facing the screen. The screen is on and shows the first slide of a presentation titled _July Wedding Options_.

“Each category will have about six options,” Helena explains. “You give me your top three and we’ll compare those to your fiance’s and try to find an option that works best for both of you.” Helena clicks through various slides for things like food, music, rings, theme, and a dozen other things. I don’t care for most of it (I wasn’t aware the _lighting_ was part of wedding planning) but give my opinion based on what’s the most appealing and hope my future spouse has the same ideas. Helena talks about the budget for things like catering and my suit, which I’m supposed to go looking for next week. She writes things on her notepad the entire time. It takes about two hours.

“Alright,” Helena says when we finish. “Your fiance will be here tomorrow and we’ll show him the same stuff and compare your answers.”

I almost do a double-take. “Wait, wait, wait. Back up. Did you say _him_?”

Helena stares at me. “Yes?”

“My fiance is a man?” I ask.

“In the forms that you filled out for us, you said you’re attracted to men and women, and he’s your most compatible match.”

“Oh,” I say, my voice at least two octaves higher.

Helena frowns. “Is that going to be a problem?”

 _Not for me._ “Not at all.” It shouldn’t surprise me. It’s not like _Altarcations_ hasn’t featured queer couples before. One of the partners in a couple last season was nonbinary. It just never occurred to me that _I_ would get paired with a man. It doesn’t bother me. I don’t have a preference and I’ve been involved with people all over the spectrum. But when I signed up for the show to spite my father, I only imagined marrying a girl who met none of my father’s standards for a _proper lady_ , not a _man_.

Helena runs through a few more basic things about the wedding, which will be at the end of next week. It’s a little surreal knowing that by this time in two weeks I’ll be a married man. I try not to dwell on it too much.

As soon as Helena lets me go, I pull out my phone and text Felicity.

**Monty: father is going to kill me**

**Felicity: I’ll let you know if I hear him on the phone with a hitman.**

**Monty: you didn’t even let me tell you why**

**Felicity: I’m assuming the wedding?**

**Monty: sort of**

**Monty: just found out my fiance is a MAN**

**Felicity: You’re dead.**

**Felicity: Want me to speak at your funeral? Which drunk stories should I tell?**

**Monty: none preferably**

**Felicity: I’m thinking the time you streaked through the Bourbons’ garden.**

**Monty: do NOT**

**Felicity: Why not? You’ll already be dead anyway.**

**Monty: i hate you**

**Felicity: Fine, let Father speak at your funeral.**

The next week, I meet Felicity, Jeanne, and Helena at the bridal shop. We’re greeted by a young man who looks barely out of high school named Félix who works in the shop. Félix leads us to the back where we’ll be undisturbed and lays out some suits within our budget that he thinks will look good on me—though the way he looks me up and down so often seems to be judging a bit more than how I’ll look in each suit. Still, I resist the urge to flirt as I am a betrothed man now.

The first few suits I try on are rather standard—standard being a generous term. Helena must notice how very not-enthused I am about them because she sighs. “I know you have expensive tastes, Monty, but we are on a budget.”

“I don’t think Monty even knows what budget _means_ ,” Felicity says. She protested to coming to a suit fitting (“You know more about clothes than I do.”) but I told her that if our father murders me, she could at least give me this dying wish.

I ignore her. “Félix, darling,” I say, turning to him. Félix, pink in the cheeks, stands at attention. “Surely you can find something a bit… _more_ for me?”

“ _Budget_ , Monty,” Helena reminds me.

I sigh. “Within our price range,” I add to Félix.

Félix smiles. “I might have one more suit you could try. Let me go check.” He disappears into a back room.

“Are you trying to flirt your way into a discount?” Felicity asks.

I shrug, turning back to the girls. “If it works, it works.”

Felicity rolls her eyes but Jeanne laughs.

Félix returns holding a garment bag. “I think you’ll like this one.” He pulls out a white suit and I’m about to point out that a basic white suit isn’t any better until I really look at it. The suit is white, yes, but it’s textured too. The fabric of the suit is textured with a pattern, and the tie that goes with it is gold with that same pattern in white on it. “Try it on,” Félix says.

I take the suit and put it on as fast as I can in the dressing room. It’s a nice suit. Definitely not within our _initial_ price range, but I’m sure that Félix can do something about that. This one is more my style than any of the other ones were. At most weddings my family has been to, the brides always have their extravagant dresses and the grooms are shoved into something similar to what they wore at their senior proms. It’s very clear who everyone is meant to be focusing on. Call me conceited, but I don’t want the spotlight stolen from _me_ at my own wedding. And with two grooms, _someone_ has to be the center of attention.

I step out of the dressing room, grinning. “I think you’ve found the one, Félix.”

“It’s pretty,” Felicity says, which is about as close as she gets to high praise.

“I like it,” Jeanne chimes in. “It suits you.”

I turn to Helena, raising my eyebrows.

Helena looks at me, down at her clipboard, and back at me. She sighs. “Fine,” she relents. “It is your special day.”

“In that case,” I say, studying myself in the mirror, “I think I’m ready to get married.”


	2. the wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here!!! I'm sorry I made y'all wait so long, but school started and it's d r a g g i n g me. That said, the next updates are only gonna get slower, so I've decided to break ch3 into two parts so y'all don't have to wait so long cuz I'm an idiot who divides chapters by plot relevance rather than by length. however that means this chapter is like twice as long as the first and lots of mercy!!! I hope I made the wait worth it!!! thank y'all for all the love and patience you've given me  
> now I'll shut up cuz I know what you're all really here for

[ **fic playlist!** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63AbhooOOjdKLlMQCEwSru?si=FrJ094PhRHCftfl8BHsZ7Q)

**percy**

I like to think that I usually have good ideas. Marrying a complete and total stranger, however, may not have been one of them.

I didn’t mean for it to get this far. I really didn’t. I’m not sure anyone does. Still, I never imagined that whining to my coworkers about not having a boyfriend would lead to waiting for someone at the altar. Signing up for _Altarcations_ seemed like a _why not_ sort of thing at the time. The worst that can happen is nothing, right? Wrong. The worst that can happen is standing here waiting for a cameraperson to tell me it’s ‘time to go’ and walking down the aisle. Figures that one of my very few impulsive decisions comes back to bite me in the ass.

There are cameras everywhere, only intensifying my anxiety. I get it. This _is_ a TV show. But can’t a man have a nervous meltdown in peace? If anything, they seem to _want_ to catch my nerves on camera.

It makes for good television, I guess.

They already sat me down and asked me how I was feeling, what I was expecting, if I was having second thoughts. Of course, I’m having second thoughts. Who doesn’t? Even normal couples have doubts before they get married. Now, I’m pacing.

“Percy, honey,” Mama says. She’s waiting here with me until the wedding starts and she walks me down the aisle. “You’re making me dizzy. Sit down.” Mama takes me by the arm the next time I pass her and pulls me to sit next to her on a couch. “You’ll be fine,” she assures me.

“It’s not _me_ I’m worried about,” I say. “It’s the strange man I’m marrying.”

Mama smiles wryly. “Ideally, this marriage goes well,” she says, “but either way, let’s consider this a lesson in curbing our impulses.”

I make a face at her, but I know she’s right. All things considered, my parents have been incredibly supportive through this all. They were surprised and very skeptical when I told them, but they realized pretty quickly that it was already said and done and complaining wouldn’t really change that.

Don’t get me wrong; they _did_ complain. They wouldn’t stop complaining for almost a week after I told them. But eventually, Mama sat me down and said, “I know we talked about a lot of worst-case scenarios. But we should also consider the best-case scenario where you meet someone that is going to make you happy for the rest of your life. If that’s the case, honey, then I don’t care how the two of you met.”

She still wishes I had just gone on dates like a normal person, but she isn’t still giving me hell for it.

Finally, Helena—the woman who has been in charge of most of the wedding planning—leans into the room. “Percy, it’s time.”

I nod and stand, smoothing out the jacket of my suit. My suit is a standard black one, but Helena let it slip that my husband-to-be took a different approach.

 _Husband-to-be_ . The thought still kind of scares me. In a few minutes, I’m going to meet him for the first time, this man that I’m going to be married to for at least six months. I’ll be honest; I’ve never even had a serious boyfriend before. Dating as a gay man is hard enough. It gets harder still when you didn’t come out until you were eighteen, and you’re a high school teacher. Most of my adult day-to-day interactions are with the middle-aged, straight women I work with. The dating pool is _small_.

Mama takes my arm, and we follow Helena down the hall and stop in front of a set of double doors.

“Are you ready?” Helena asks me. I know the question is just for the camera behind her.

“As ready as I can be,” I say.

Helena gives me a reassuring smile and flings the doors open. The wedding ceremony is being held in a small pavilion in the botanical gardens. I can see the pavilion from here, fairy lights strung up and white chairs laid out for our families. Cameras are set up around the perimeter. Music starts playing as Mama half-leads-half-drags me down the aisle toward the pavilion. As we climb the steps, I take in the gathered guests, all standing and clapping as I make my entrance. The number of guests we can have is pretty limited. I had to ask Helena to make an exception for my large family, but she said it wasn’t a problem because my husband doesn’t have that many guests. As I look around, I see that she’s right. I recognize almost all of the guests except for three women and a little boy in the front row. Finally, I stop looking around and lay eyes on my husband-to-be, who is waiting for me under an archway of flowers.

 _Shit,_ I think, _he’s cute._ He has sandy brown hair, fair skin, a strong nose and chin. He’s also short. Not that I have a problem with that, he’s just _noticeably_ short. I probably have at least half a foot on him. His suit is definitely more eye-catching than mine, all white and gold. It looks really good on him, though. 

We finally lock eyes as I’m almost to the altar and he smiles, dimples on full display. For some reason, his smile puts me at ease and I try to return one of my own, hoping my nerves aren’t too obvious when he seems so nonchalant.

Finally, we reach the altar. Mama kisses my cheek and goes to sit by Dad. I take my place in front of my husband-to-be. My friend, Sim, stands behind me as my best woman. I glance behind my husband-to-be and it seems like he has a best woman too who, from the looks of it, might be his sister.

“Please be seated,” the officiant says to the guests. “Percy Newton,” she says to me, “meet for the first time, Henry Montague.”

“Hi there,” my husband-to-be says to me.

“Hi,” I say.

He holds out a hand. “Monty.”

“Percy,” I reply, and we shake. It almost feels anticlimactic. Here he is, the strange man I’m about to get married to, and we’re just smiling at each other, probably because we’re both too nervous to say much.

He does have a very nice smile, though.

The officiant clears her throat and smiles at both of us before she begins. “First of all, I would like to thank you all again for coming. Now, let’s give Monty and Percy a big round of applause to show our love and support to them on this special day.” Our families clap for a few minutes. Monty and I are still smiling, though now it’s probably more from having no idea what else to do. “Wonderful,” the officiant continues. “Today, this beautiful couple will be joined by their hopes, dreams, and by their promises of what will be. While many of us are meeting for the first time, we are united in a common purpose to support and wish Monty and Percy every happiness as they embark on this unique experience. Being a part of _Altarcations_ is definitely a rather unusual way for many to meet their spouse, but something we have learned on this show is that love can happen quite unexpectedly, and there is no recipe or measure for a perfect relationship or marriage. What makes a marriage thrive and survive is different for everyone.

“Monty and Percy, you have come here today with your individual personalities and histories to embark on a quest to find the love of your life. In a few moments, you will make a commitment to each other, in the hope that you will find someone that you can be truly happy with to share your life. It’s a massive leap of faith. You are ready to risk who you are, for the sake of who you can be. In the coming days and weeks, you will experience wonderful moments together, and I suspect a few challenges too. As you discover each other’s likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, enjoy the experience, and be open to learn, to change, and to adapt. Remember to look upon each other’s strengths with joy, accept each other’s imperfections with understanding, and above all, have fun, laugh, and enjoy the journey! 

“Now, before the exchange of the rings, I will share what each of the grooms’ friends and families wants the other to know about him.” The officiant turns back to me. “Percy, Monty’s friends and family would like you to know that he is, quote, ‘kind of an asshole, but a strangely lovable one.’” Monty laughs and I see the young woman behind him grin. The officiant bites back a laugh of her own and continues. “Monty is the life and soul of a party and manages to make you so drunk that you don’t realize you’re telling him everything wrong in your life until later when he proves he was exactly the best person to tell. He may not look or act like it at first, but he has a big heart and is more than willing to share it. He can be obnoxious and headstrong, but what he lacks in impulse control he makes up for in loyalty, humor, and good intentions. Monty is a good brother, a good friend, and a good time. You can guarantee that your life will never be boring with him around.”

Monty grins, still laughing. “Guilty as charged,” he says, which makes me laugh too.

The officiant faces Monty. “Monty, Percy’s friends and family would like you to know that he is compassionate, loyal, nurturing, and loving to a fault. Percy is a lover of music. He’s played the violin since he was a child. He likes to say we’re all instruments in one large, beautiful orchestra. If that is true, then the instruments surrounding Percy must be the most well-tended and loved. He exercises this most with his students. He will always do everything he can to help someone in need, even at his own expense. His friends and family want his husband to know that Percy needs someone to remind him that he can keep others warm without burning himself to an ember, and can be selfish every once and a while.”

I duck my head, feeling a flush creep up my neck.

“Now, Monty and Percy, you have both written your own vows as well and I will ask you to share them at this time.” The officiant turns to me. “Percy?”

This might be the part that I’m most nervous about. It’s hard to write vows for someone that you’ve never met. I will admit that I asked for my parents’ help. Even though they’re somewhat short, I’m pretty happy with what I came up with. I pull a piece of paper out of my suit pocket. “Monty,” I say, “I promise to give you my best in everything and ask no more of you than you can give. I promise to be patient, honest, and gentle with you. I promise that me and my family will accept you with open arms. I look forward to our future, becoming each others' best friends, sharing adventures, and growing in love. We may not know what love means yet, but we will find out together.” When I look up, Monty is looking away like he’s fighting back tears. When he meets my gaze, he’s beaming, and his eyes are more than a little watery.

“Monty?” The officiant prompts.

Monty nods and pulls out vows of his own. “Percy,” he says, “I am by no means perfect. I won't always know what to do and I'll probably say and do the wrong things all the time, but I promise to try and give you the best of myself. I promise to put in the effort to make this marriage work. I promise to make you smile, laugh, and always dance with you. If I make you cry, it will only be from laughing so hard. If I steal from you, it will only be your heart.” That makes me and some of our guests laugh. I think his family and friends might have been onto something.

The officiant turns to address everyone again. “Monty and Percy, there is no greater happiness than that of sharing life with all its joys, and its cares, as a loving couple. I invite you to exchange and receive rings as a visible sign of your commitment to each other.”

I wasn’t sure how this part of the ceremony would be handled, but the little boy (who I’m assuming is related to Monty) runs up and presents two rings in a small box. The rings are identical: gold rings with a small diamond surrounded by smaller gems inlaid in the ring.

“Please place this ring on your groom’s finger and repeat after me.”

Monty and I pick up the rings and put them on each other, then join hands.

“With this ring,” the officiant begins. Monty and I echo her and start to repeat the lines we were given for this part of the ceremony.

“I wed you, Monty,” I say.

“I wed you, Percy,” Monty says.

“For today, for tomorrow.”

“For all the years to come.”

“Please wear it as a sign of my commitment—”

“—and notice to the entire world—”

“—that I am your husband.”

“That I am your husband.”

My cheeks already hurt from smiling so much. Part of it is definitely the nerves, but part of it is also the fact that I’m _getting married_ to a man that doesn’t seem that bad at all.

The officiant closes. “Family and friends, this beautiful couple has declared their commitment to each other through their vows and the giving of rings, so everyone, get ready to make some noise as we congratulate Monty and Percy.” She looks at us both. “May you always remember the excitement and happiness you feel today. Monty, you may now kiss your groom.”

Monty takes a step towards me but stops. Maybe it’s just something in my face, but he asks, “Are you okay with that?” It’s so soft that only I—and maybe the officiant—can hear. Again, something must show on my face. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss Monty in particular; I’m just not very fond of the idea of kissing someone I’ve known for less than an hour. I shake my head, almost imperceptibly. I worry that’ll be a problem, or he’ll kiss me anyway, but instead, Monty bends (though he doesn’t have to bend far) and kisses the back of my hand. He holds my eyes as he does, still smiling when he pulls back. It’s such a tender gesture that I have to admit it makes me a little weak at the knees.

“I am proud to present as husband and husband for the first time, Monty and Percy! Let’s congratulate the newly wedded couple!” The officiant calls. Our families clap and cheer as we turn to face them. Monty doesn’t let go of my hand.

Monty and I step down from the altar and walk back up the aisle where Helena is waiting. Helena leads Monty and I inside, down a hallway, and into a new small room to sit in (who knew botanical gardens had so many sitting rooms?). The couples on the show always get to sit and actually talk for a bit before the reception. Usually, they sit and drink champagne, but they only left us water. That’s fine by me, though. I’m not much for drinking anyway.

“We’ll give you two about fifteen minutes here away from all of that to actually get to know each other a little. Then, we’ll pull you out separately for your first impressions interviews and take some pictures.” With that, Helena leaves us alone and shuts the door.

Monty and I sit on the couch, and we both seem to let out a simultaneous sigh. Even though there are cameras in this room, there aren’t any other _people_. It feels like the first time today I’m getting any semblance of privacy.

“I’m already sick of these cameras,” I say.

Monty barks out a laugh. “God, me too.” He pours himself a glass of water. “I mean, I expected being on camera a lot but I didn’t realize it would be constant.” He looks over at me. “Hopefully they got our good sides.”

I snort. “I’m not sure I have a good side.”

“Oh, please, darling,” he says. “I like every side of you that I’ve seen.” He flashes me another one of those smiles before taking a sip of his water. If I was drinking some, I might have choked on it. _Darling_.

I quickly reach for a subject change because if he keeps _that_ up, I’ll be bright red by the time I’m pulled out for my interview. “Just making sure, is it Monty or Henry?” I ask. 

“Monty,” he says. “Henry is my first name but it’s also my father’s name, so no one calls me that except him and my mother.”

“Your father,” I say. I don’t remember seeing a man with Monty’s guests. “I don’t think I saw him.”

“No, my father didn’t come,” Monty says shortly.

“Oh.” I know that most parents aren’t thrilled when they find out their child is marrying a stranger. But to just _not come_ to the wedding? It seems like an especially low blow. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Monty says. “I can’t say when you’ll meet him, though. My father’s…” Monty trails off, grimaces, and takes another sip of his water. “It’s probably best that he wasn’t here.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Monty shakes his head like he’s clearing it. “Anyway, anything I should know about you now that we’re married and all that?” he asks.

I can’t help smiling a little at his bluntness. It’s a fair question. “Just the basics? I’m twenty-six. I’m gay. I’m a high school orchestra teacher.” I hesitate before the last one. I don’t want to freak him out or anything, but we are married. He should know. “Um, I have epilepsy.”

I watch his face for a reaction. It’s like I can see the wheels turning in his head. “Is that when you have…seizures?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Tonic-clonic seizures, in my case, which is basically where you fall unconscious and start to convulse.” He starts to look concerned, so I add, “I take medication for it, so the seizures are pretty non-frequent. I don’t think we need to get into the technicalities of all that yet but, you know, a heads up.”

“Oh,” Monty says, “okay.” I can tell he still doesn’t quite have his head wrapped around it, but I don’t think this is the time to start discussing all of that, especially with cameras around. “Sorry, I don’t know a lot about that stuff but obviously if there’s stuff you need—”

“No, yeah, I get it.” I cut him off. “Really, don’t worry about it right now.”

Monty nods, though he still has a crease between his eyebrows. It’s kind of adorable.

“What about you?” I ask. “Basics?”

“Okay,” Monty says. “I’m twenty-five. I’m bisexual. I work under my father at his company.” Like me, Monty saves the most uncomfortable fact for last, grimacing. “If we’re doing heads up, then I should probably tell you that I’m a recovering alcoholic.” Monty does something like sad little jazz hands.

That surprises me. Monty doesn’t look like he should be a recovering _anything_. “Oh,” I say.

“Nine months sober, though!” Monty says lightly. “It’s not a big deal, just…felt like a necessary disclaimer. That, and the fact that my family is a little batshit crazy.”

I shrug. “I’m pretty used to crazy family.”

Monty grins. “I don’t think you’re used to my family’s level of craziness. But don’t worry darling, it’ll be worth it.” Monty nudges me and winks. “I’m a catch.”

I snort, and that makes Monty laugh. It dissipates some of the tension. I didn’t think marrying a perfect stranger would be _easy,_ but I think things are going well.

Helena pokes her head in. “We’re ready to film first impressions now,” she says. “Monty, why don’t we film yours first?”

Monty stands up and flashes me another smile before he follows Helena out. For some reason, I find myself nervous as I wait and sip from a glass. What if I didn’t make a good first impression on Monty? Sure we get along fine, but no one wants to be rude at their own wedding, even if it is to a stranger. 

Monty’s interview hardly takes any time at all. Less than ten minutes later, he returns, and Helena pulls me out. I follow her back outside where they have cameras set up in the pavilion for the interviews. Our guests aren’t there anymore, probably inside for the reception. Helena has me sit in front of a camera, counts from five, and starts asking questions.

“So, Percy,” she says, “tell us about your feelings walking down the aisle, your first impressions of Monty.”

“Walking down the aisle, I was ridiculously nervous. It was more like being dragged than walking, honestly. As anyone would be, I was nervous all morning but that was like _the_ moment, right before jumping off that cliff. Monty made it a little easier, though, once I got to the altar. We were both smiling like idiots but it was nice to know we were both nervous. I appreciated what he did for the kiss. It was really considerate of him. I think Monty and I hit it off really well so, you know, high hopes.”

“That’s wonderful. And how about tonight?”

“Tonight?” I echo.

“Well, it is your wedding night,” Helena says pointedly.

That’s when it dawns on me. I hadn’t even thought about tonight, about the implications of the wedding night. If he expects me to have sex with him, it’s not happening. I haven’t told Monty this yet for obvious reasons, but I’m demisexual. Monty is charming and handsome, yes, but that doesn’t mean we’re _there_ yet. I hadn’t even thought about having to tell him so soon, but I guess I'll have to mention it tonight. “Um, I mean, I think Monty and I are off to a good start, but I don’t think we’re…there yet.”

Helena nods. “Thank you, Percy. That’s all we need.”

Wedding photos are easy enough. They keep Monty and I in the pavilion. We take most of our pictures under the archway at the altar. We take a few facing each other, a few facing away from each other, and one where we’re standing like prom dates.

“It’s unfair how tall you are,” Monty says while we’re waiting to be directed into our next pose. “You’re too tall.”

“Am I?” I nudge him. “Or are you just too short?”

Monty mocks offense. “I am not short!”

“Really? How tall are you? Five-six?” I ask.

Monty pouts. “Five-five,” he grumbles.

“Aw, you’re right Monty, you’re not short.” I take Monty by the backs of his legs and pick him up, which is surprisingly easy. Monty makes a sound of surprise and clings to me, laughing. “You’re just travel size.”

“And you’re an ass,” Monty says, but he’s still laughing and making no move to have me set him down.

“You don’t mean that, _darling_.”

Monty’s mouth falls open. “I see how it is. You’re already turning against me. Helena!” Monty calls. “How soon can I get a divorce?”

Helena just rolls her eyes at us. “We have enough pictures now! It’s time for the reception.” She waves for us and I set Monty down so we can follow Helena inside. The reception is being held in one of the garden’s special event rooms, similar to a greenhouse with high windows so you can still see the gardens. Helena stops us in front of the doors. I hear the DJ announcing us. The doors are opened, and Monty and I make our entrance and walk to the dancefloor set up in the middle of the room.

Monty leans over. “Do you know how to waltz?” he asks quietly.

“They had to teach me the steps.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Maybe you should let me lead.”

I’m not in any position to argue. We reach the middle of the floor and turn to each other. We join hands, and Monty puts his other hand on the small of my back while I put mine on his arm. It’s a bit of a relaxed version of the stance they taught me for waltzing but I don’t think it matters much.

The song starts playing and both of us smile when we recognize it: _Lover_ by Taylor Swift, arguably her most romantic song.

“A man of taste,” Monty says appreciatively. He starts leading me through the dance, and I try to follow along without stumbling.

“Taylor Swift should be universal,” I say firmly.

Monty grins. “I think this is the start of a beautiful marriage.”

I nod, then almost trip over Monty’s feet, so I shut up and focus on the dance. Waltzing is harder than they tell you. Even though Helena made sure I had the basics handled, I’m still not very good at it. Monty’s a natural though. He executes the steps with ease, never looking down at his feet.

“When did you learn to waltz?” I can’t help but ask.

“Oh, in cotillion,” Monty says like that’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I stare at him. “Cotillion?” I echo. “I didn’t think those were _real_. People actually still do that?”

“Of course!”

I shake my head. “I don’t believe it.”

Monty smiles, bemused. “What? You think I’m lying?”

“I think this is what you meant when you said your family is batshit.”

Monty scoffs. “That’s not even the tip of the iceberg.”

For some reason, that makes me laugh, which in turn makes Monty laugh too. We probably look a little silly, both of us laughing our way through our first dance as husbands, but it’s a lot better than it being awkward. I wouldn’t be willing to place any bets on it yet, but if I can laugh with Monty, maybe one day I can love him.

After the first dance, we go through introductions. Our guests make a circle and Monty and I walk through, shaking hands and learning names. There’s much more of that for Monty than for me, though. We start with Monty’s family. “Percy,” he says, “this is my sister Felicity, my mother Eleanor, and my baby brother Adrian.”

I can see the similarities between Felicity and Monty: same nose, same broad shoulders, same steely blue eyes, though Felicity’s hair is redder than Monty’s. When she gives me a small smile, I notice they have matching sets of dimples. We shake hands, but she spares me of the formalities. 

Eleanor is a tall, pretty woman with delicate features and long blonde hair. She looks young, probably in her late forties. She shakes my hand with a sweet smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” she says. 

“You too,” I say. I turn to face Monty’s younger brother, Adrian, but he’s practically hiding behind Eleanor’s skirt. I smile at him but that just seems to make him more uncomfortable.

“He’s a bit shy,” Eleanor says. She guides Adrian to stand in front of her. “Won’t you say hello to your new brother-in-law, dear?”

Adrian glances up at me and quickly glances away. “Hello,” he says softly. He’s a tall kid, but he stands like he’s trying to make himself smaller and hides his face behind dark hair. I have enough experience with shy kids to know that there’s no gaining their trust by trying to crack their shells by force. So, I just tell him that it’s nice to meet him and we start to move on. Before we can, though, Eleanor takes Monty by the arm.

“Henry,” she says, “I’m sorry your father wasn’t here for this. I begged him to come but he— I—”

“It’s alright,” Monty interrupts. He glances at me and I make a point of looking away. Though I think I have some right to know about the family I’m marrying into, I understand him not wanting his mother to air their dirty laundry in front of me. He doesn’t say anything to me, though, turning back to Eleanor. “It’s about what I expected. He is a man of his word. You don’t have to make excuses for him.”

Eleanor frowns. She takes Monty’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I wish he could have been here to see you get married. I’m really happy for you.” She kisses Monty’s cheek. “Both of you,” she adds with a smile at me.

I return the smile, though I can’t stop thinking about their conversation. Eleanor lets us go and Monty turns to me. He shakes himself out and puts on a smile. It’s a little frightening how easily he does it and how I almost believe that he’s happy. “Introduce me to your parents?”

As soon as we approach my parents, Mama pulls Monty into a hug. He stiffens, probably caught off guard.

“Mama, please, don’t kill him,” I say.

She lets go of him. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just so good to finally meet you! I’m Josee, Percy’s mama, and this is my husband Arthur.” She puts a hand on my dad’s arm, who smiles. My mom is the extrovert between the two of them.

“It’s great to meet you both,” Monty says.

Monty and my parents make small talk that I only really half-listen to, things like how old Monty is and where he works. Then, we continue around the circle. I have a lot of family to introduce Monty to, most of which he’ll probably never see again if this marriage doesn’t last. At the end of the circle, I introduce him to Sim, who shakes his hand and immediately asks, “Does your sister like girls?”

Monty pauses. “Felicity?” Sim nods.

“You always did have a thing for girls in suits,” I say.

Sim just stares at Monty expectantly.

Monty still seems baffled by the fact that he’s being asked about Felicity, but he answers. “Felicity doesn’t like anyone that way. She’s aromantic.”

Sim frowns. “Damn.”

“Next time,” I say, “but maybe not my sister-in-law?”

Sim shrugs. “She might only be your sister for six months.”

Monty and I both fall silent at that reminder. Knowing that this might only last for six months is one thing. Talking about it with my husband _right here_ , knowing that it ends at six months if we can’t stand each other, feels different.

“Well,” Monty says, “on that note, I think it’s time we all sit and eat.”

Monty and I sit at a table and are quickly joined by Sim, Felicity, Felicity’s best friend and plus-one Johanna, and Monty’s friend Jeanne. Their small talk spares Monty and I any newlywed awkwardness.

“So, what do you do for a living, Percy?” Jeanne asks.

“I’m a high school teacher.”

Felicity snorts. “Oh my _god_.”

“Felicity!” Monty chides.

“No, no! No offense to you,” Felicity says. “But our grandparents are going to have double heart attacks when they find out…well, everything about Monty’s marriage.”

I frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“The arranged part probably won’t bother them that much. But they’ll find out that you’re a man and it’ll all go downhill from there. Not only that, but you’re _working class_.”

My eyes widen. I don’t think anyone has ever referred to me as working class. I am, of course, but it almost feels like an outdated concept to come up in conversation. I’m not eager to meet their relatives if they’re the kind of people that would be a problem for. “Monty, when you said your family was _batshit_ …”

Monty just nods. 

Felicity just grins wickedly. “Don’t worry, Percy. You can’t disappoint them any more than we have. If nothing else, you’ll probably be the most pleasant grandchild.”

I lean over to Monty. “Your family kind of scares me,” I whisper.

Monty pats my arm. “Me too, darling.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Percy!” Monty whines. “Come on! This is _your_ wedding!” He pulls at my hands, but I’m not budging.

“And because it’s _my_ wedding, I should get to sit out if I want to,” I say.

“And because it’s _my_ wedding,” Monty counters, “I should get to have _my husband_ dance with me.”

“I already danced with you! And don’t you dare start pulling the husband card.”

“ _Please._ ” Monty tugs me towards the dance floor again but I am obstinate.

“I am not doing the _Wobble_ at my wedding. It’s not happening.”

“Come on, Percy!” my cousin Kaitlin calls out.

“Don’t encourage him!” I shout.

“Percy, even your _parents_ are dancing!” Monty says.

I look over and, to my dismay, my parents _are_ doing the _Wobble._ I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get _that_ image out of my head. Monty takes advantage of my disgust and tugs on my hands again, finally making ground. I give up and let myself be pulled. “I don’t actually know how to Wobble, you know.”

Monty looks appalled. “You’re telling me you never did this during shitty high school dances?”

“No, I usually didn’t _go_ to shitty high school dances.”

Monty shakes his head. “Disgraceful. I’m teaching you.”

“What?!”

“Just follow along!”

As stupid as it makes me feel, I do my best to keep up with Monty. My parents start hyping me up when they notice that Monty dragged me onto the floor. Soon, everyone who isn’t dancing forms a loose circle around the four of us. It’s kind of humiliating, but it’s also probably the most fun that I’ve had in months. 

I’m held hostage in the circle until I plead exhaustion. Monty and I step off of the dance floor and return to our table.

“I’m already a little obsessed with your parents,” Monty admits as we sit.

“What?” I ask. “Why?”

“I mean, look at them!” Monty points at my parents, but I just shake my head. I love my parents. I really do. But there’s only so much grinding one man can stand to watch. “You and I have very different definitions of crazy family. Yours is _fun_.”

“You just like them because they encouraged your peer pressure,” I say. “Which I fully intend to get back at you for, by the way.”

Monty grins. “You’re more than welcome to, darling,” he says, which makes my cheeks heat. Monty notices and laughs at me, but I just make a face at him.

Out of nowhere, Adrian appears at Monty’s side.

“What’s up, Goblin?” Monty asks. Adrian says something that I can’t hear, but it makes Monty sober. “Too loud in here?” Adrian nods. Then, he climbs into Monty’s lap. Monty isn’t even fazed, stroking Adrian’s hair when he hides his face in Monty’s shoulder. Monty turns to me. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get Adrian some air.”

“Of course.”

Monty stands. Even though Adrian can’t be younger than six, which would usually make him too big, Monty carries Adrian as he walks and steps outside. Of all things, I didn’t pin Monty as an affectionate brother. It’s sweet.

Almost as soon as Monty leaves, Sim sits beside me. “Well?”

“Well, what?” I ask.

“What do you think of your new husband?”

“He’s nice.”

“Nice? That’s it?”

“I’ve only known him a few hours. He’s nice. I like him.”

“Better than being repulsed by him. Do you think you’ll last the six months?”

“Do you have to keep mentioning that?”

Sim raises her hands in surrender. “Just wondering. But if you’re so defensive at the idea, things must not be going _that_ bad.”

“I don’t _want_ them to go bad. I like him, and I hope that in six months, I’ll like him enough to stay married to him.”

“I could give him the shovel talk,” Sim offers. “I’ve stabbed before and I’ll do it again for you.”

“Let’s hold off on the stabbing threats? He seems fine, Sim, really.”

“If you say so.” Sim adjusts her hijab and stands. “I’ll stay out of your way. Just let me know if he gets out of line.”

I can’t help but smile. “Sure thing.”

When Monty returns, Adrian is still trailing him. They stop at the table holding the cake and Monty cuts a slice for Adrian. He hands Adrian the plate and puts a finger over his lips in a _don’t tell mom_ gesture, which makes Adrian laugh. Monty ruffles Adrian’s hair and Adrian returns to his mother’s table, mollified by cake.

“You’re really good with him,” I say when Monty returns to our table.

“Who, Adrian?” I nod. Monty waves a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not,” I insist. “Most big brothers aren’t as doting as you are.”

“Felicity would argue with you.”

“Doting on your baby brother,” I correct.

Monty gives a half-hearted shrug. “He’s just a nervous kid. He needs someone to look after him.”

“And that fell to you?”

“Don’t make it sound like an obligation,” Monty mumbles. “I just want to give Adrian what I didn’t have.” I’m about to ask what all that entails, but Monty makes a face like he just realized how much he told me. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love that you’re close with your siblings.”

A small smile plays across Monty’s lips. “Thanks. But let’s just keep this between us. I do have a reputation to uphold. This devil-may-care attitude doesn’t come from nowhere, you know.”

I snort. “Your secret is safe with me.”

After the reception winds down, we say our goodbyes and get into a car with Helena and Scipio. The ride to the hotel is short and is spent with Helena telling us what to expect for tomorrow: going to the courthouse and making this marriage legal, brunch with our in-laws, and packing for our honeymoon. They aren’t going to tell us where we’re going until tomorrow.

I’m only half-listening to what Helena is saying. I’m too nervous. I can’t stop thinking about how tonight is going to go. It’s not that I’m worried about having sex. We’re _not_ having sex. I just don’t want that—or the fact that I’m demisexual—to cause some sort of tension. But if Monty is going to be weird about something like that, it would be better to know sooner rather than later.

When we get to the hotel, they lead Monty and I up to our room. Before we step through the door, Monty puts a hand in front of me. “Wait, we should do this right.” He turns to me and raises his arms. “If you would, my giant?”

I grin. “Gladly.” I pick Monty up, bridal style and everything, and carry him over the threshold.

They went all out for our hotel room. There are rose petals on the floor and bed, along with a gift basket and candles on the desk. It feels a little overkill. Luckily, Helena, Scipio, and the rest of the camera crew don’t stick around long. Scipio has our overnight bags brought up for us (“Though who knows how much you’ll be sleeping?”) and they leave us be.

As much as I hate to do it, that seems like a good time to introduce the topic. I brush rose petals out of the way, perch myself on the end of the bed, and clear my throat. “So, about that,” I say.

Monty looks up from digging through his bag. “About what?”

“Uh, sex.” I feel my cheeks heat up.

I have Monty’s attention now. “What about it?”

“Just that…you’re not expecting me to…have sex with you yet, right?”

“What? No!” Monty turns to face me. “I’m not going to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do. It’s only fun if we both want it.”

“Do you?” I ask haltingly. “Want it?”

“I mean, if you laid out on that bed and said ‘ _please Monty have sex with me right now’_ I certainly wouldn’t say _no_ ,” Monty says with a smile. “But I’m more than willing to wait if that’s what you want.”

Somehow my cheeks get redder. “Okay. Thanks,” I mumble.

“Don’t worry about it, darling.” Monty waves a hand dismissively. “Though sex is definitely one of life’s finer pleasures, it’s not the end all be all.”

“Have you had sex before?”

“Oh, more times than I can count.” Interest sparks in Monty’s eyes. “Why? Have you not?” I nod. “ _Really?_ ”

“I know, it’s kind of pathetic to be a virgin at twenty-six.”

“No, no,” Monty says. “I just can’t believe everyone who meets you doesn’t want to climb you like a ladder.” Monty looks me up and down in a way that does nothing for my blush. “Saving yourself for marriage or something?” he jokes.

I shake my head. “No, I’m demi, actually.” I watch his face to see if that rings a bell and whether it’s a good one or not.

Monty opens his mouth, and I think he’s about to make a joke, but then decides against it. “Alright,” he says. “That’s…cool.”

“Alright,” I echo. God, my face is burning. “I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

Monty shrugs. “Sounds good to me. Do you mind if I shower first?”

I’m almost certain that he’s just giving me the opportunity to end this conversation with dignity, and I seize it. “Go ahead.”

Monty flashes me another smile, probably to put me at ease. I don’t think the effect his smiles have on me has gone unnoticed. I do my best to return the smile as he disappears into the bathroom with his bag.

The next morning, Monty and I go with Helena and Scipio to the courthouse to make the marriage official. It’s a quick process since the fees and most of the forms have already been dealt with. After we sign everything, we are legally married. It doesn’t feel any more official than yesterday did, although Monty does take my last name with surprisingly little hesitation.

After the courthouse is brunch with our in-laws. Separately. I’m not enthusiastic about it. On the ride there, Monty gets a text from Felicity and winces. “Shit.”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

Monty looks up, grimacing. “So, bad news,” he says. “Apparently, my father is coming to brunch. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to protect you from him.”

“Is he that bad?”

Monty huffs. “He’s…yeah, he’s that bad. He’ll probably say something homophobic. Or racist. Probably both.”

“Not my idea of a good time,” I say flatly.

“I don’t know why he’s coming. I don’t know how anyone _convinced him_ to come.”

“Your mother, probably.”

Monty nods.

We get to the brunch place and are lead to the separate, private rooms that the show rented for us. Before we’re separated, Monty bumps my shoulder with his. “Good luck. Try not to let them kill you. Or kill them. Well, don’t kill Adrian, at least.”

“Thanks for the reassurance.”

Monty grins, stands on his toes, and kisses my cheek, which promptly turns pink. “Don’t worry. It’s barely two hours.” With that, Monty disappears into a room to eat with my parents, followed by some of the camera crew. I can’t avoid it, so I enter the other private room where I’m meeting Monty’s family. They’re all already sitting at the table. Eleanor sits between Adrian and a middle-aged man who must be Monty’s father. Monty’s father looks just like Monty, but twenty years older and angrier. Felicity is sitting across from Adrian, reading a thick book. When I look closer, I realize that it’s a textbook. Still, Felicity is the first one to notice me because she’s the only one who looks up when I enter. Eleanor and Monty’s father are in deep conversation.

“Hi, Percy,” Felicity says calmly.

Adrian looks up from a kid’s menu that he’s coloring on. Eleanor’s head snaps around, looking mortified. Her face immediately relaxes into a smile. The Montagues as a whole seem to be very good at faking a smile. Monty’s father doesn’t smile, though. His face doesn’t change much. He’s still frowning as much as he was when I came in, though that seems like a permanent feature. Still, there’s something in his eyes that makes me wish Monty _was_ here to protect me.

“Good morning, Percy,” Eleanor says. “I hope you got some rest after yesterday? I’m sure it was tiring.”

It’s a weak attempt at small talk, but I’m more than willing to oblige and ignore the hard stare that Monty’s father is giving me as I sit across from Eleanor. “It was, but I had a good time.”

“You haven’t killed your husband yet, have you?” Felicity chimes in. Her parents both stare at her.

I laugh, a little nervously. “No, and I don’t really plan to.”

“Really?” Felicity’s eyebrows raise and she shuts her textbook. “Because the best thing you’re getting out of this is a sweet divorce settlement,” she says.

“Felicity!” Eleanor scolds.

“What?” Felicity raises her hands. “You know these marriages hardly ever last.”

None of us can argue with her.

“Um, we didn’t meet yesterday,” I say, turning to face Monty’s father. I extend my hand. “I’m Percy Newton. It’s nice to meet you, Mister…”

He shakes my hand stiffly. “Mister Montague will do.”

I nod. He definitely doesn’t seem like the kind of father-in-law that would let his kids’ spouses call him _Dad_.

A waiter comes in and takes our orders. Mister Montague orders for Eleanor, which is strange, but Monty’s family certainly doesn’t strike me as normal. Adrian has to repeat his order three times to be heard. Unfortunately, the waiter is only our saving grace for a few minutes before we’re back to awkward silence. I should be better at small talk. Mama is from Mississippi and small talk is practically southern culture. But I can’t think of _anything_ to say to this family. They all either scare me or seem scared of me. Felicity seems like the easiest to talk to, though, so I turn to her. “What are you reading?”

It’s clearly the right question. Her face lights up when I ask. “A textbook for a pharmacology class I’m taking this semester.”

“Really? What’s your major?”

“I just got my bachelor’s in Human Biology. I’m starting med school in the fall.”

“You’re going to be a doctor?”

Felicity nods. I think this is the most enthusiasm that I’ve ever seen from her.

“Oh, if you let Felicity start talking about medicine, she’ll never stop,” Eleanor warns.

Felicity deflates, so I say, “I don’t think that’s a problem. It’s great that you’re going into something you’re passionate about.”

Felicity gives me what I think is the first genuine smile I’ve seen from her. Then, she launches into a small speech about women in the medical field that I don’t understand much of, but it makes her happy and she seems to know what she’s talking about.

“Alright,” Eleanor says when she’s finished. “Let’s not overwhelm Percy. Percy, what do _you_ do for a living? You’re out of school, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m twenty-six and I’m a high school teacher.”

Both Eleanor and Mister Montague give me the same blank stare. “A high school teacher,” Eleanor says, voice high. “How…nice. What do you teach?”

“Orchestra.”

“Orchestra,” Mister Montague echoes like he isn’t sure he heard me correctly.

“Yes, sir.”

They’re both still staring at me and I start to think Felicity was onto something about their family not liking my job. His family must be the traditional, old money type. I know Monty mentioned that his father owns a company, though he didn’t tell me any of the specifics. But once again, I’m saved from _that_ conversation by the waiter who returns with our orders.

After that, we’re mostly too busy eating to make conversation. When someone finally does speak, it’s Felicity to me. “So how did _your_ parents react to you being on the show?” she asks.

Mister Montague and Eleanor give Felicity matching tired looks. I wonder if she likes trying to get a rise out of them.

“At first they were skeptical,” I say. “They weren’t thrilled, of course, but they’ve warmed up to it. They didn’t want to miss their only kid getting married.”

“Hardly a marriage,” Mister Montague mutters.

Everyone stops and looks at him. I tell myself that this is just about the fact that Monty and I are strangers. I force a nervous laugh. “Well, it is legally binding. We _are_ married.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Alright,” Eleanor cuts in, voice tight. “I’m glad your parents have warmed up to your marriage, Percy. It just takes some…a bit more time.” She gives me a pleading look.

After a moment’s hesitation, I nod. It could be worse. Monty’s family could have not shown up at all. At least they’re here and some of them are trying.

We make it through the rest of brunch without any arguing, so if Monty wasn’t exaggerating, I consider that a victory. I notice Adrian drawing dinosaurs on his kids’ menu and ask him about it. He doesn’t light up the way Felicity did, but he does tell me about his favorite dinosaur (brachiosaurus), which he knows a surprising amount about. Sometimes I forget how smart kids can be, especially because I work with some that I’m not sure how they made it to high school.

When brunch is finished, we reunite with Monty and my parents outside where we are supposed to wait for Helena and Scipio.

Mama sidles up to me, taking my arm. “How was brunch?”

“Good,” I say. “How was yours?”

“Good! Your husband’s a sweetheart.” Then, she leans in. “But tell me what you thought of his dad,” she murmurs.

I frown. “What? Why?”

“Well,” Mama starts. She glances at Monty, who is standing between his parents and Dad, apparently introducing our fathers. “We were eating and it was going really well. I really like him and I think your daddy does too. But there was something…” She glances at Monty again and back at me. “Does Monty seem jumpy to you?”

“No, why?”

Mama frowns. “I didn’t think so either. But while we were eating, your daddy…well, I’m not quite sure what he did. Raised his hand, I think. That’s all I noticed anyway. But Monty flinched like he swung at him so I’m just wondering…”

It suddenly dawns on me, what Mama is trying to say. My dad isn’t an intimidating man. Sure, he’s six-foot-three, but he rarely even raises his voice. I can’t think of any reason he would _scare_ Monty unless…

“Mama, do you think Mister Montague…?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.”

I look at Mister Montague, still frowning like he would rather be anywhere else. I think about how he didn’t come to the wedding, how Monty said it was probably better that he didn’t, how Monty got upset when he found out his father would be here today. “Maybe,” I whisper.

Mama squeezes my arm. For a few minutes, neither of us says anything, silently observing. Monty looks over and catches my eye, giving me an easy smile. Mama glances at me, back at Monty, and back at me. “Just make sure he knows he has some new family that’s here for him, okay?”

I nod. I’m not really sure what to say. I figured Mister Montague was just uptight and conservative, not that it was something like _that_. Then again, maybe it’s not like that at all. I don’t want to make assumptions about a family I hardly know. But until I know for sure, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. 

Thankfully, Helena and Scipio arrive to distract me.

Helena, as usual, has her clipboard. “Good afternoon. I hope you all enjoyed your brunch. But it’s time to say your goodbyes to Monty and Percy because they have to pack and be at the airport early tomorrow morning.”

“Where are we going?” Monty asks.

Helena gives him a look like she was getting to that. Monty just smiles. She sighs. “We’re sending you to Orlando, Florida for the week, so pack accordingly.”

Florida doesn’t sound bad at all. I like the beach, though Monty’s face suggests he doesn’t feel the same. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Helena and Scipio start directing the camera crews to pack up so we can leave.

“Henry, may I have a word with you first?” Monty’s father puts a hand on his shoulder. Monty flinches so quick that, if Mama hadn’t just told me what she did, I would have thought I imagined it. Monty opens his mouth but for a second, nothing comes out. I wonder if he’s aware of all the eyes on—and pointedly looking away from—him.

“Actually,” Scipio says loudly, “we’re on a schedule.”

Mister Montague frowns but lets go of Monty. “We’ll finish this conversation when you return from your trip.”

Monty nods.

“Monty, Percy,” Scipio says, “let’s go.”

I hug my parents and fall into step behind Scipio and Helena with Monty. Monty looks a little pale so I bump his shoulder with mine. “You okay?”

Monty looks up and gives me a smile that I don’t quite buy. “Just fine, darling. So, what did you think of my family?”

“They’re…nice.”

“You can say you hate them.”

“I don’t!” I protest. “I think your dad hates me, though.”

Monty shrugs. “Don’t take it personally. He hates everyone.”

“Yeah, I got that impression. Felicity’s cool, though.”

Monty stares at me. “ _Cool_ ? You think Felicity is _cool_?”

“Yeah, I like her.”

Monty looks put out by this. He pauses and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He looks at it and laughs. “Well, I don’t know what you did but Felicity must like you too.”

“What’d she say?”

“She told me to not fuck this up because you could do so much better.”

I snort. “That’s not very fair to you.”

Monty just grins. “You don’t have siblings, do you?” When I shake my head, Monty just nods like that makes it all make sense.

The next morning, Monty and I ride to the airport with Helena and Scipio.

“After your arrival tonight, you will have six days in Florida together before you return home,” Helena explains in the car. She hands us both a sheet of paper. “We made you an itinerary but it’s rather flexible. We obviously don’t expect you to film everything you do, but we ask that you film small updates throughout your honeymoon.”

“We’ll check in with you every other day or so, just to see how you’re adjusting. But if you need anything, feel free to call us.”

Monty and I just nod. I think we’re both eager to at least pretend this marriage is normal.

They drop us off at the airport and we get checked in. As soon as we’re through security, Monty beelines for Starbucks and gets iced coffee. Two days of marriage and I’m already well-acquainted with Monty’s caffeine addiction. I just get tea.

We don’t have to wait long to board our plane. It’s about a four-hour flight and Monty and I both try to keep ourselves entertained, but Monty only lasts through about thirty minutes of a movie on his phone before falling asleep on my shoulder. It catches me a little off guard (which just goes to show how starved for affection _I_ am), but I don’t mind it. I don’t get much reading done before I slump over and fall asleep too.

I don’t wake up until we land. Monty is already awake and has my head in his lap now. I quickly sit up. “Sorry.”

Monty just smiles, amused. “I didn’t mind, darling.”

He’s going to kill me with that pet name one day, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that. He’s watching me for that reaction. I bite back a smile. “Ready to go?”

Monty nods. We get our things and get off the plane. We don’t waste any time at the airport. We grab our luggage and pick up the car that the show rented for us. The first thing I notice when I step outside is how hot it is in the afternoon sun. Not only that, but it’s humid. I’m suffering almost instantly in the hoodie and sweatpants I wore for the flight. Monty, comfortable in a crop top and shorts, notices my distress and laughs. “I don’t know what you expected from Florida in July.”

“Shut up.”

Monty just laughs again as he climbs into the passenger seat of our car.

Monty films our first check-in as I drive us to our hotel. It’s not very far from the airport. It’s a pretty standard hotel, one of those that just look like apartment buildings with an outdoor pool. We park and go inside to check in. When the receptionist, an older man wearing a suit way too nice for the hotel he works in, is looking up our arrangements, he frowns, looks up at us, back at the computer, and back at us. “I think there may have been a mistake. It seems you’re booked for a honeymoon suite. We can get you a room with two beds, though.”

“Oh, no,” Monty says. He put on sunglasses while we were in the car and it’s at this moment that he chooses to take them off, obviously flashing his wedding ring at the receptionist. “I think we’re fine.”

The receptionist goes a little red and apologizes. I feel a little bad for him but it’s fun to watch Monty’s dramatics. The receptionist quickly finishes checking us in.

“You didn’t have to be so hard on him,” I tell Monty as we get in the elevator. I can’t hide my smile, though, and Monty notices.

He shrugs. “We might as well milk this newlyweds thing for all that it’s worth.”

Our itinerary didn’t have anything for our first night in Florida, so because Monty and I were so drained from the past few days, we spent the night in our hotel room and ordered room service. Our first activity on Tuesday is an amusement park that I’ve never heard of called Fun Spot America. Monty looks it up while we eat breakfast at the hotel.

“Google thinks very highly of it,” Monty reports. “It looks like a combination between a state fair and a waterpark.” He sets his phone on the table and slides it towards me.

I squint at Monty’s phone before remembering that I’m not wearing my contacts anymore. I pull my glasses out of my backpack and put them on. Monty stares at me. “What?”

“You wear glasses?”

I nod. “Yeah, I just wasn’t wearing them as much for the wedding because I knew we’d be on camera so much. But I need a break from my contacts.” Monty keeps staring at me. “What?” I ask again.

“I just don’t think it’s fair that you can be so handsome without even trying.”

I’m trying to adjust to Monty’s flirting, but this is so unexpected—that, and I can’t remember the last time anyone I’m not related to called me handsome—that I feel my cheeks go red, which makes Monty look very pleased. I’m starting to think he just likes to fluster me, but it sure as hell is working. “What, you think I look better with my glasses?”

“I think you’re gorgeous either way, darling,” Monty says. He pauses and gives me a rakish grin. “But the glasses are doing it for me.” This must make me redder because Monty laughs. “Has no one ever told you how attractive you are?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“A shame,” Monty says. “We’ll fix that.” I don’t know how to respond to that but luckily I don’t have to. Monty slides his phone back towards himself. “How do you feel about roller coasters, Perce?” he asks.

Monty has started calling me that, _Perce_. No one else calls me that. I always thought it was kind of a stupid nickname but, for some reason, I don’t mind it coming from Monty. “They’re fine.”

Monty raises an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

“I don’t have strong feelings about roller coasters, why?”

“How would you feel about being dragged onto them?” Monty gives me a hopeful look.

“Yes, Monty, I’ll ride rollercoasters with you.”

“You’re a better husband than I ever could have asked for,” Monty says with a pleased smile. I just roll my eyes at him.

Maybe agreeing wasn’t my best idea.

I’m not _afraid_ of rollercoasters, but they aren’t exactly my thing. All of the rides Monty has picked have been fine so far, but the wooden one Monty is pointing out barely looks sturdy enough to stand. “It says there’s a height requirement. Are you sure you’re tall enough to ride?”

“Ha. Ha,” Monty says flatly. “Bullying will get you nowhere except divorce court, Mister Newton.”

I snort. “Okay, _Mister Newton_.”

“Keep up that behavior and it’ll be Mister Montague.”

“You are _so_ dramatic.”

“You’re just now realizing this?”

I heave an exaggerated sigh. “No, I guess not.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Monty points out, nudging my side.

“Fine,” I relent. “But we’re taking a break from rides after this.”

“The sacrifices I make for you,” Monty says wistfully. He takes my hand and pulls me into line for the roller coaster with him. The ride itself isn’t that bad, though it tilts a little more than I would have liked. At one point, my glasses almost fly off of my face and Monty has to grab them. He just laughs, slides them back onto my face, and kisses my cheek. I have to fix my glasses anyway, but I can’t help but smile.

After that roller coaster, Monty and I get snacks. Because Monty agreed we could stop riding for a while (probably the smartest decision after eating a bunch of nachos anyway), we head for the games.

“What do you think, darling?” Monty asks. “What would you like me to win you?” He gives me a confident grin.

“How do you know I won’t win you something?”

“You’re more than welcome to.”

The first game we try is a ring toss where Monty wins me a small stuffed frog. In return, I win him a corgi plush in a dart game. Monty starts laughing and I worry that I did something wrong, but he takes the corgi and hugs it. “You know, my sister always says Montagues are like corgi dogs.”

I stare at him. “What?”

“Short and sturdy,” Monty says, still laughing, “like corgis.”

“I would definitely use one of those words to describe you.”

Monty flips me off but he still looks very pleased about his corgi.

We play a few more of the standard fair games, forming a small army of stuffed animals that we win for each other. I’m not sure what we’re going to do with all of them but I’m having too much fun to worry about it much. Monty films a few check-ins here and there for the show’s benefit. Then, we go to the actual arcade where Monty kicks my ass at table hockey. (In my defense, Monty has unfairly good reflexes.)

After another hour or so, we decide that we’re done for the day. We get dinner at a small Italian restaurant by the hotel before we go back. My parents have been checking in with me a lot since we left and I barely have time to set down our stuffed animal army in our room before Mama calls me to see how our first full day went.

“Sorry, my mom is calling.”

Monty waves me off. “You’re fine.”

I step into the hallway because it feels rude to discuss Monty (which I have no doubt we’ll be doing) with him in the room.

Mama doesn’t even let me get an introduction in. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“Your first day? What did y’all do?”

“We went to this theme park. Monty wanted to ride a _bunch_ of roller coasters, but I had a good time.”

“How are things with Monty?”

“They’re good, I think. I don’t think I could make the divorce call while we’re literally still in the honeymoon phase but I still really like him. He’s fun. We talked a lot today while we were in lines and stuff and he’s pretty easy to talk to.”

“That’s good! I was a little worried but I’m happy if you’re happy.” Mama pauses. “Your daddy says hi, by the way.”

“I know, he’s the only person I’ve been texting more than you today.”

“Can’t blame us for being involved parents,” Mama says. “How about Monty’s?”

“Monty’s parents?” I ask. Mama makes an affirming sound. “I don’t know. He hasn’t brought them up. Are you still worried about him?”

“Aren’t you?”

I hesitate. “I…haven’t really been thinking about it.”

Mama sighs. “You’re right. I don’t want to spoil your honeymoon with something like this. Tell me everything about today.” I can’t say no to Mama, so I do. We’re on the phone for another half hour and I tell her every little thing about the honeymoon so far. “Well, I don’t want to keep you long,” she says when I’m finished. “But I’m glad you’re having fun. Keep us updated, okay? I love you, Percy.”

“Love you too, Mama.”

“Love you, Percy!” It sounds like Dad is yelling from the other side of the room.

“Love you too, Dad,” I say, even though I’m not sure he can hear me. Mama says goodbye and hangs up.

I return to our room to find Monty already showered and in bed. He has the TV going though he looks like he’s scrolling mindlessly on his phone. He looks up when I walk in. “Shower’s all yours.”

“Thanks. Sorry that took so long. You know how moms are.”

Monty just nods and looks back at his phone.

“Has…has your family been keeping up with you since we left?” I venture to ask.

Monty looks up again. He smiles but it’s the kind of smile you give someone when you aren’t sure what else to do. “Felicity’s texted me some. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

Monty just gives me that still-confused-smile and turns back to his phone again, seemingly unbothered. It’s obvious that the Montague family isn’t a tight-knit one. This shouldn’t be shocking. Maybe it’s just me, used to having parents that want to be involved in every aspect of my life, but it makes me unexplainably sad for Monty. It doesn’t feel like the kind of thing I can bring up after only three days of marriage, though. I am reminded that, no matter how much it feels otherwise, Monty and I are near strangers. I don’t have the right to press. After the honeymoon, when we actually have to live as functional husbands, it feels like a conversation we have to have. But right now, I just want to enjoy spending time with him.

Wednesday, Helena and Scipio have a beach date scheduled. I’m looking forward to it. Though Monty doesn’t seem as enthusiastic as he was yesterday, he doesn’t complain. The show gave us a list of smaller beaches to drive to if we didn’t want to deal with huge crowds. Monty and I aren’t in any hurry, so we take the drive. The beach is about two hours away so, about twenty minutes into the drive, Monty acquires the aux. I’m not sure why I’m always the one driving, but it’s the pattern that we’ve fallen into. I don’t mind too much because Monty still asks for my opinion on song choices, though my opinions are subject to his approval. Monty leans more towards Harry Styles and Lady Gaga, while I lean more towards Hozier and Phoebe Bridgers. Still, we’re able to compromise with Taylor Swift and Maggie Rogers. I try to push for Florence + The Machine, but Monty resists. Either way, it gives me ideas for the playlist that I’m going to make him.

The beach is near-empty when we get there. We set up a spot close to the shore with towels, an umbrella, and snacks. As soon as we’re settled, I take off my shirt and glasses and start for the water, but notice Monty is sitting on his towel.

“You’re not coming?”

“Oh no, darling, I don’t swim. I’m happy to sit back here and enjoy the view,” he says, pointedly looking me up and down.

I roll my eyes. “ _Don’t_ swim or _can’t_?” I ask.

Monty eyes me suspiciously. “Why?”

“ _Can_ you swim?”

“Yes,” Monty says hesitantly.

I offer my hand. “Then come swim with me.”

“No,” Monty says without hesitation.

“Please?” I add.

“Nope,” Monty says, popping the _p_.

“But it’s your _honeymoon_ , Monty, and you won’t even swim with your _husband_?”

Monty wrinkles his nose at me. “You dare use my own words against me?”

“You’re going to leave me no choice, Monty.”

Monty narrows his eyes again. “What are you going to _do_?”

I reach down and pull Monty to his feet. I pick him up like I did during our photoshoot. Monty realizes what I’m doing too late and protests, but I’m already dropping him in the water. It’s not deep. It’s shallow enough that he can stand perfectly fine, which he does, sputtering and cursing my name. “Fuck you, Percy!”

“I did say I would get you back.” Monty flips me off but I just laugh. “I won’t do it again.”

“You better not. I know where you sleep.”

“Yeah, next to you.”

Monty rolls his eyes.

Despite his hatred for the water, Monty sits at the shoreline while I swim. I’m not able to bait him into the ocean with me and, as a man of my word, I’m not going to force him in again, so I stay relatively close to the shore so I can talk to him. Sometimes I’ll venture into deeper waters but never for long. Once, when I come back from a swim farther out and leave the water to get a drink, Monty whistles at me. He’s been flirting with me all day. (“I wasn’t kidding when I said I would be enjoying the view!”) As unfamiliar as it is for me, it’s kind of nice, although I’m still not sure if Monty actually thinks I’m so attractive or if he’s just naturally flirtatious. Though when he whistles, a girl down the beach yells at him for being an asshole and catcalling. Monty is embarrassed and we both rush to explain that we’re married. She apologizes and says we’re a cute couple. Monty is still pink in the face.

We stay at the beach until late afternoon. I’m soaking wet and we’re both pretty covered in sand, so we drive back to the hotel for showers before dinner. After we’re both showered and ready, we go to a seafood restaurant on the beach (though this one is much closer to the hotel). I like it, and Monty must too because he’s finished before I am and eyes the shrimp that I haven’t touched.

“Do you want these?” I ask, nudging the plate.

Monty grins, showing off his dimples. “You would do that for _me_?”

I snort. “Just take them.”

“You’re the best, darling.” Monty leans over and kisses my cheek. He sits back, pulling the plate with him. Suddenly, a man walks up to our table.

“Excuse me,” he says.

We both look up at him. “Can we help you?” I ask, studying the man. He’s a white, middle-aged man, and he doesn’t look particularly happy. His entire outfit is pretty unfortunate, even I can see that, but what makes me nervous is his hat: the bright red monstrosity that fills any minority with dread. I don’t have to guess what kind of interaction we’re about to have. I know Florida isn’t the most progressive place in the world. If I see one more Confederate flag, I’m going to lose my shit. Still, I didn’t think something like this would happen.

“Yeah,” he says. “Can you not do that stuff in front of my kids?” He gestures to us and says _that stuff_ like we were making out or something.

Still, I don’t want to cause a scene. I’m about to just ignore him, but Monty makes a sound like a laugh, except there’s no amusement behind it. “I’m sorry?” he asks incredulously, tilting his head.

“Look, I don’t care what you people do in the privacy of your own homes, but do you have to do it in public? The rest of us are trying to enjoy our dinner and I don’t need my kids to see that and get the wrong idea.”

“Oh, you did _not_ just say that,” Monty says, standing up.

“Monty,” I warn. _Please don’t get us thrown out of the restaurant_ . _Please don’t make a scene. Please don’t make us a statistic._

“No.” Monty puts a hand up. “He’s going to hear what I have to say.”

The man scowls. “Maybe you should listen to your… _friend_.”

Monty laughs again. “Sir, my _husband_ and I aren’t bothering you or your inbred children. We aren’t doing anything different from any of the heterosexual couples in this restaurant. And I know damn well we’re not the first gay couple you’ve seen and we certainly won’t be the last, though I understand if your observation skills aren’t the strongest when you still support _that_ monster.” Monty gestures to the man’s hat. The man is gaping, but Monty isn’t anywhere near finished. “I’m sorry if you’re so insecure that our confidence in ourselves and our comfort in our relationship makes you feel threatened, but I am not about to sit here and let a straight man in _khaki shorts_ and an unfulfilling marriage try to dictate what I do on my own honeymoon. If you don’t want your children to get the _wrong idea_ , maybe you should start by setting an example of minding your own goddamn business and not saying hateful bullshit to strangers.”

A waitress steps in. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she says. When the man who confronted us gives a triumphant hmph, she turns toward him. “No, _you_ , sir.”

“What? Why?” he asks.

She looks at him like she can’t believe he just asked that. “You’ve been harassing other patrons. _I’m going to have to ask you to leave_.”

The man opens his mouth like he’s about to argue but the waitress puts a hand over a walkie-talkie at her hip and he closes it before storming back to his table. The waitress turns to Monty and I. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says. “If you two receive any more trouble, feel free to let us know and we’ll handle it right away. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Monty says. Almost instantly, the homophobe-bashing persona is gone and he’s smiling at the waitress, who returns the smile before walking away. Monty slides back into his seat.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine.

Monty shrugs. “Homophobes always have something to say.”

“It was kind of endearing watching you tear into him,” I admit. “But do you always start a fight with them?”

Monty looks over at me. “I didn’t start anything,” he says. “If anything, _he_ started it by not minding his own fucking business. He deserved to be taken down a peg. People always have something to say and they aren’t going to stop unless you make them.”

“It doesn’t freak you out?”

“Why should it?”

I find that I don’t have an answer for him. I’m not… _ashamed_ , obviously. I’m out all the way. But Monty seems much more out and _proud_ than I am. Instead of answering his question, I respond with one of my own. “How old were you when you came out?”  
Monty seems to consider my question, biting the inside of his cheek. “There wasn’t really a _coming out_ for me. It was just something that everyone found out about.”  
I frown. “Were you outed?”

“It’s hard to out someone who doesn't exactly know what they are but…yeah, basically.” Monty shrugs, avoiding my gaze. “In middle school, there was this boy I liked. One day we were at a family party and he kissed me. I thought it was a good kiss as far as first kisses in middle school go and I thought he felt the same. But he must’ve gotten freaked out about it or something because next thing I knew he was telling everyone that I forced him to kiss me, which is definitely _not_ what happened. I didn’t really understand what happened at the time, I guess? Kids at school were calling me the f-slur before I even knew what it meant. My father was absolutely _livid_ when he found out, though not so much at the idea of me harassing another boy but at the idea that I _kissed_ another boy. He made it his mission to ‘rid me of my sinful urges’ and all of that bullshit.”

“God, Monty, I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is. I didn’t realize until freshman year that there was a _word_ for my feelings, and while I don’t think either of my parents was very interested in my explanations of bisexuality, it came up in conversation with Felicity later on. It was already a known secret anyway so all I could do was own it.” Monty does that thing where he shakes himself out and puts on a smile. He looks over at me again. “What about you? How long have you been out for?”

“I came out when I was eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” Monty echoes. There’s no judgment behind it, though, just curiosity.

“Kinda late, I know,” I say. “I guess I was just in denial for a long time? I never liked girls, obviously, and then I was never really _attracted_ to anyone? I thought I was just a late bloomer or there was something wrong with me. And then there was this girl, senior year. She was really sweet and we were good friends. She asked me out and I thought _yes_ , _this is perfect I can prove that I_ can _like girls_ , and then I didn’t, obviously. After multiple internet rabbit holes, I realized I was very gay and just was never attracted to anyone because I was demi.”

“So I’m going to have to rely on more than my stunning good looks to get you in bed?” Monty asks with a grin. He must feel comfortable making jokes about it now.  
I laugh. “Yes, you’ll have to rely on your _personality_. How tragic.”

“My second best feature, but I can work with that.”

“Oh really? What’s your best?”

“My stunning good looks, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

We get our first check-in call from Scipio that night. Monty and I are both in bed already. Monty is on his phone while I try to make progress on _We Are The Ants_. Monty drops his phone when it starts ringing but picks it right back up to answer Scipio’s FaceTime request.

“Oh,” he says, “I’m glad I caught you in time.”

“Maybe a little warning next time?” Monty asks. “It could’ve been a horrible time. We could’ve been having passionate sex when you interrupted.”

“Monty!” I scold.

Scipio looks unimpressed. “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time for that,” he says flatly. I watch my cheeks go bright red on screen. Scipio chuckles. “Judging by Percy’s face, I guess there hasn’t been much of that though.”

“No, but maybe next time you’ll think twice before calling unannounced,” Monty says haughtily.

“I just wanted to check and see how the honeymoon is going.”

“It’s going fine,” Monty says.

“Monty almost fought someone at dinner today,” I say plainly.

“Percy!” Monty looks betrayed. I just shrug like _two can play at that game_.

Scipio frowns. “Do I even want to know?”

“I was justified!”

“Your quick defense makes me think you weren’t.”

“He kind of was,” I chime in.

“ _Did_ you fight someone?” Scipio asks.

“It wasn’t a _fight_ ,” Monty says. “It was a…confrontation.”

“You called his kids inbred.”

Monty waves a hand dismissively. “They were like five. They don’t even know what _inbred_ means.”

Scipio looks so tired that I almost regret bringing it up. “Monty, why were you insulting someone’s kids?”

“Okay, the kids might have been innocent, but he deserved it. He was the one picking fights when he came up to us and asked us to be a little less gay—which we were hardly being at all. I gave him a piece of my mind. Then he got kicked out for harassing us, so all’s well that ends well.”

“Just remember that if you get arrested, we can’t bail you out.”

“No promises.”

Scipio sighs. “Percy, please keep your husband out of trouble.”

“I’m doing my best,” I say, which earns me a nudge from Monty.

“And how are you two? You’re doing alright? No problems with each other?”

“No?” Monty says. We glance at each other like we’re making sure and then back to Scipio. “No, I think we’re okay.”

Scipio nods. “We didn’t expect a lot of issues from you two, but you never know. Some couples can’t stand each other by the end of their honeymoon. If you have issues, though, feel free to call me.” Monty and I nod. Scipio asks us a few general questions about our honeymoon like what and how we’ve been doing. He reminds us to send in any videos we have. I hadn’t been putting much thought to our check-ins, but Monty promises that he will. I must have not noticed him filming them today. Scipio wraps up our call and we say our goodbyes. I’m only half-paying attention though because I’m distracted by what Scipio said. _We didn’t expect a lot of issues from you two._ I glance at Monty, who flashes Scipio a grin as he hangs up, and find myself hoping the same.

In the morning, I find myself wrapped around Monty. I don’t notice it at first. It takes me a minute to realize the warmth against my chest is _him_ , and that I’m practically spooning him. I quickly pull away, though I don’t think Monty is awake to notice. It’s not that affection bothers me. Though I am touch starved in a romantic sense, I get my fair share of hugs from my family and friends. I just don’t know where that leaves Monty and I. Monty hasn’t been shy about affection but that’s all been playful, kissing my cheek and grabbing my hand, none of which I mind. But Monty is experienced and I’m not. I don’t know what step is a step too far, especially when we’ve only been married for five days. It’s felt like longer, though.

I sit up and grab my glasses and phone off of the bedside table. We don’t have anywhere to go early today, so I let Monty sleep and check my phone. I check in with my parents and respond to texts from Sim from the night before. I don’t normally use Facebook that much but when I see how many notifications I have, I check and see that Mama got around to posting about the wedding. I have messages from about twenty different people congratulating me, asking me when I got engaged, who my husband is. Mama spared me the embarrassment of explaining the show. I ignore most of the messages but look at the post. Mama took pictures of Monty and I during our first dance when we were laughing at each other. It makes us look like a normal couple. Oddly enough, I really like it, so I save them.

I cave and spend the next twenty minutes or so responding to messages from relatives and family friends. Then, Monty announces that he’s awake by groaning and pressing his face into his pillow. I laugh. “Good morning.”

“I made a mistake. Beaches are a mistake,” Monty says, muffled by the pillow.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sunburnt.” I snort and Monty sits up with an indignant look. I notice the pinkness on his cheeks now. “You’re not being a very supportive husband.”

“I’m sorry,” I say with mock sympathy.

Monty holds up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to hear it.” Monty slides out of bed and stretches. “This is your fault anyway.”

“How?” I ask flatly.

“You coaxed me into the sun.”

“I didn’t _coax_ you. You came willingly.”

“But I wouldn’t have if not for you.”

“I’m flattered.”

Monty just makes a face at me. He picks up our itinerary off of the desk and reads it over. “What are we scheduled for today?”

“We have that picnic under the stars tonight but the rest of the day is ours.”

Monty nods. “Any suggestions for our day off then, darling?” He looks up at me pointedly. “Preferably something _inside_? If I come back from this trip with freckles, I’m holding you accountable, Percy.”

“I _do_ have an idea, actually, and I promise there will be limited sun exposure.”

Monty raises an eyebrow.

I smile hopefully. “How do you feel about art museums?”

“I feel as if I’ve suffered enough for you,” Monty says. I must deflate because he sighs, softening. “But if you have your heart set on it…”

“I won’t make you go if you don’t want to. We can do something else,” I offer quickly.

“No, no,” Monty says. “Don’t worry about it, darling.” He returns to the bedside, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “You can admire the art, and I can admire you.”

Monty and I get brunch and spend the afternoon at the Orlando Museum of Art. I definitely enjoy it more than Monty does, but he doesn’t complain too much. He mostly just follows me and lets me ramble here and there. More than once, I end up explaining a piece to him. I’m pretty sure my explanations go in one ear and out the other. Monty _does_ look more interested in staring at me than the art. We’re both happy with the arrangement.

That night, Monty and I drive to a beach outside of the city. We’re one of a few dozen couples that get food from the vendors lining the beach before sitting on the beach for a picnic. After we eat, we lie back and look at the stars. Monty presses against my side. I hesitate, not sure what to do, and Monty must notice.

“What?” he asks, turning his face towards me. “You can touch me, darling, I won’t bite. Not unless you want me to, anyway.”

I feel a flush creep up my neck. Hopefully, he can’t see it in the dark. “Am I that obvious?”

“You pulled away this morning like I burned you.” He scoots over so we aren’t touching anymore. “If you don’t want—”

“No, no that’s not it,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “I just don’t want to overstep. I don’t really know how to do…all of this.” My blush only intensifies. I feel pretty pathetic, especially compared to Monty, who’s done everything but sweep me off my feet.

Monty raises an eyebrow. “What’s _this_?”

“Uh, relationships. Unless you count my compulsive heterosexuality in high school and a few dates in college.”

“I don’t, but that makes two of us.”

I frown. “You’ve never…?” Monty shakes his head. “You could’ve fooled me.” Monty seems so _together_ when it comes to this. I thought he was experienced. “But you said you weren’t a vir—” I stop, pieces starting to fit together. “Oh.”

Monty is fiercely avoiding my gaze now. “I did and I’m not,” he says plainly. He clears his throat. “I’ve never had a serious relationship but I’ve been with plenty of people in other ways.” He glances at me like he’s anticipating my reaction. I try to wipe the surprise from my face.

There’s no shame in it and I’m certainly not going to shame him _for it._ It just hadn’t occurred to me, when Monty said he had had sex so much, that he _slept around_ . It makes sense, though. It’s not like everyone was as painfully repressed as I was for the first eighteen years of their life. “Oh,” I say again, which is definitely not the right thing to say, but I’m not sure what _is_.

Monty shrugs, trying to play this off. “You know about as much as I do about relationships. But the marriage thing was a pretty big step so…”

“So maybe we shouldn’t worry about treating this like it’s normal?”

Monty laughs, nodding. “Something like that.” He brushes his hand against mine. “If it’s fine with you, it’s fine with me.” 

It’s a question and I twine our fingers in answer. “It’s fine with me.”

Monty smiles and brings the back of my hand to his lips. He leans into my side again. I wrap my arm around him, our fingers still laced together. He looks up at me, a smile still pulling at his lips. He starts to say something but stops. “I never noticed that you have freckles, Perce.” He leans up and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Just when I thought I couldn’t find you any more handsome.”

I smile, certain he can see my cheeks redden now but not caring much. I think about what Monty was saying and maybe he’s right. There’s no point trying to treat this like a normal relationship because it isn’t. We’re already married, so what’s the harm in rushing a little bit more? I’ve never been in a relationship before, but I wonder if this is what it’s supposed to feel like. I’m not so pitiful that I’ve _never_ been interested in anyone. Growing up I had a few crushes that I didn’t realize were crushes. The way Monty makes me feel is different, though. Monty makes me happy, plain and simple, and I want to do the same for him. I don’t know him well yet but I want to. I want to know what his nervous tics are and how he takes his coffee and which side of the couch he likes to sit on. I want to go on dates with him and do chores with him and fight with him. It’s a fantasy, an infatuation-induced daydream, but laying here under the stars with Monty pressed against my side, it feels possible. It’s not certainty by any means—we still have six months to go—but it’s hope.

“You walk too slow for someone with such long legs,” Monty complains.

“You complain too much for someone who isn’t carrying anything,” I retort, lifting one of the bags that I’m carrying because I’m such a good considerate husband.

Monty grins, stopping so I can catch up with him. We’re at a street market today where artists and vendors set up tents and are selling their stuff. It’s not as hot as usual because it’s so overcast (though it’s still pretty humid) so walking around outside isn’t as bad as it could be. Besides, we spend a lot of time in the tents anyway. Monty gravitates toward anything that catches his eye, meaning anything that sparkles, especially clothes. I’ve somehow ended up carrying everything, but I really don’t mind that much. When I fall into step beside him, he takes a bag from my hand and laces our fingers.

“Is that better?” he asks.

“Much.”

We walk for a bit, Monty pointing out things here and there.

Suddenly, it starts pouring rain. We run for cover under a seller’s tent, but everyone else has the same idea, so it’s a tight fit. We still get pretty soaked before we find space to duck into. I tug Monty with me, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him to my side to make room for others.

Monty runs a hand through his hair peevishly. “Should’ve seen that coming.”

“Yeah, but it could have been worse.”

Almost as if I jinxed us, it starts raining even harder.

Monty looks up at me, an amused smile on his face. “You were saying?” he asks flatly.

“Okay, that one was my fault.” I laugh despite myself.

Monty laughs too, leaning into me. We stand there for a few minutes, watching the rain come down. I’m not sure it’s going to stop anytime soon. When I look down at Monty again to say as much, I notice that he’s still looking up at me.

“What?”

Monty doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at me, eyes flitting down before meeting my gaze again. Then he reaches up, putting a hand on my cheek. “Percy, can I kiss you?” he asks.

I nod. Monty pulls me down so he can reach (which I make a mental note to tease him for later), and kisses me.

It’s not that I’ve never kissed anyone before. But I’ve never kissed anyone _like this_. My few kisses with boys when I was younger were awkward and clumsy. My one kiss with a girl in high school was rushed and stiff. That’s about where my experience ends. But kissing Monty is different—gentle but sure. He holds my face in his hands. Maybe it’s just the hopeless romantic in me, but I’m glad we waited until now. It means something different now than it would have at our wedding. It does for me, at least.

We barely part before we’re kissing again. I’m not sure who initiates it this time. I’m not sure that it matters. All that matters right now is kissing this wonderful man I’ve somehow married.

We’re interrupted when a woman behind us clears her throat. I pull away, cheeks flaming. I’m not against public displays of affection, but I don’t want to be _that_ couple. Monty, however, looks very pleased with himself. He pulls back but takes my hand again, pressing a kiss to the back.

“What do you think, darling?” he asks, nudging my side. He’s not looking at me—he’s gone back to watching the rain—but from his smirk, I’m sure he knows I’m still red. “Worth the wait?”

“Maybe,” I say pointedly. Monty barks out a laugh. “You might have to do it again. Just to be sure.”

The last day of our honeymoon is pretty lowkey. Once again, we have free reign during the daytime, and Monty and I end up playing laser tag. We’re on opposite teams (“for the sexual tension”). I almost make it through the entire game without running into him, but when I hide in a corner, waiting to be revived, Monty appears.

I spot him before he spots me, but he has me cornered. “I’m already dead!”

Monty sees me and sizes me up. “So you are,” he says. He approaches me and I hold up my gun, even though I can’t use it for two more minutes.

“What’re you doing?” I ask warily, backing into the wall.

Monty just smiles, getting in my space so I’m between him and the wall. I don’t completely mind it, but I don’t completely trust it either. Monty presses his chest to mine and stands on his toes to kiss me. It’s a kiss that makes me weak at the knees. For a few minutes, I forget that we’re supposed to be shooting each other.

We part when my vest beeps, telling me that I’m active again. I don’t even get to move before Monty pulls back and _shoots me_ , disabling me for another five minutes.

I gasp. “ _Et tu,_ Brute?”

Monty just laughs, raising his hands as if to say _don’t blame me_. “All’s fair in love and laser tag. We’re on separate teams for a reason.”

“I’m going to get you back for this.”

“If you can catch me.” With that, Monty darts away. I try to follow, but he evades me for the rest of the game. My team wins in the end, though, so Monty can only be so obnoxious. 

We spend the rest of the afternoon packing for our flight which is, again, ridiculously early in the morning. That night, we have a dinner reservation. It’s a fancier restaurant than the others we’ve gone to, but I guess Helena and Scipio wanted to make the last night of our honeymoon extra romantic.

The restaurant isn’t too far from our hotel so we walk, hand in hand. We’ve slipped into this role of husbands so easily. I hope it’s still this easy when we go home and have to actually be _married_.

We don’t have to wait to be seated at the restaurant. After we get settled and place our orders, Monty turns to me, grinning. “So,” he begins.

“So,” I mimic, wondering where he’s going with this. 

“Apparently Scipio is worried about our relationship development,” Monty says.

“What do you mean?”

Monty pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. “He sent me these. _Thirty-six questions that lead to love_.”

I snort. “They want us to fall madly in love in a week?”

“What, my dashing good looks and charm haven’t made you fall madly in love with me already?” Monty asks with a grin.  
“You’re getting there,” I allow, which makes him laugh. “We can try the questions though.”

“All of them?”

“Some of them. Send me the list? We can just take turns picking them.”

Monty smiles, bemused. He sends me the list and I open the link. The article is exactly what he called it: _The 36 Questions That Lead to Love_.

“Alright, I’ll start,” Monty says. He scans the list. “How about…number three? Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?” He glances up at me.

“Yeah?” I say, which makes Monty look perplexed. “You don’t?”

Monty shakes his head. “No? Why do _you_?”

“I just don’t want to say the wrong thing!” I defend. Monty just looks more amused. “I’m guessing you can’t relate to that,” I say flatly.

“Nope,” Monty declares with a smile, looking pleased with himself.

I roll my eyes, looking down at the list. “Alright, my turn.” I skim the questions. Some of them are deeper than I think either of us wants to go. “Number eight. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.”

“Easy,” Monty says. “One, we’re both drop-dead gorgeous.” I laugh, but Monty continues, undeterred. “Two, we’re both scared of my family. Three, we were both stupid enough to sign up for this show.”

“I don’t regret it, though.”

Monty looks taken aback before he smiles. Monty has three smiles that I’ve noticed. There’s the one he wears most often, his charming half-smile that usually comes with a comment that makes me blush; there’s the unsteady smile he gives when he’s trying to smooth things over or wants to change the subject; then there’s this one, the delicate, gentle smile that feels reserved for these small moments when Monty is vulnerable but happy. This one is my favorite.

Monty clears his throat, looking at the list again. Those smiles never last very long.

We get through a few more of the questions before the waiter brings our food and we pause. The rest of dinner goes by fast. It’s not a bad way to spend the last night of our honeymoon, although I am a little disappointed that it’s ending. It’s easier here. When we go home, Monty and I will actually have to _live_ as husbands. I’m not sure what to expect. I try not to think about it too much before I start getting too into my head. 

As we walk back to the hotel after dinner, Monty suggests we finish with the questions.

“You like the questions?” I ask.

Monty shrugs. “It’s interesting if nothing else.”

I nod. “It was your turn to pick before we stopped.”

Monty checks the list again. “Well, we’re running out of generic ice breaker questions so…number eighteen. What is your most terrible memory?”

I pause, surprised that he asked that. Monty just watches me, gaze even. “My most terrible memory?” I echo. Then a memory comes to me. “When I was a kid, my dad got _really_ sick. He was in the hospital for a long time. I don’t remember much of the specifics—it was so long ago—but I remember there was a time when…when we thought he wasn’t going to survive it.” I glance at Monty, who watches me with careful sympathy. I realize I’ve never really told this story before. I don’t think about it a lot. Sometimes it feels like it hardly happened because I remember so little of it. But I remember the fear. I remember sitting in a hospital room and hiding my face in Mama’s side because I couldn’t stand to watch Dad laying on a hospital bed, looking like he had already died. I remember the panic that would set in for years after every time Dad got sick for too long, the recurring thought of _don’t leave me_. “I guess that would be mine.”

“God, I’m sorry, Perce,” Monty says. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

I shrug, though now the memory feels heavier than it did before. “I mean, it’s fine now. He obviously _didn’t_ die. But it was awful then, always being afraid that one day I would wake up and he would be gone. I don’t know what I would do if I lost either of my parents, honestly.”

Monty nods but doesn’t say anything to that.

I look at the list. Since we’re already touching the subject, I decide to venture and ask, “Number twenty-three: how close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

Monty snorts but ducks his head when I look at him like he shouldn’t have. “You’ve met my family, darling. We’re not a close bunch,” he says flippantly.

“You and Adrian seem close,” I point out.

A smile tugs at Monty’s lips, the same delicate one that a mention of Adrian always causes. “Yes, well, he is my favorite. And you can tell Felicity I said that. Not Adrian, though, it’ll go to his head.”

“My lips are sealed,” I say. I hesitate then but decide that I might as well push while I have the opportunity. “And…your parents?”

Monty’s smile falls then. He doesn’t frown but his face turns guarded, looking at his feet instead of up at me. “What about them?”

“I feel like I didn’t really…meet them when we got married.”

“I assure you that you did. They’re always like that.” If Monty is trying to look passive, he’s not doing so well. A bitterness seeps into his voice, though I don’t think he means for it to.

“Reserved and unhappy?”

“Somewhat. They weren’t very happy about the wedding in particular, though.” Monty sighs. “Parents are never happy when you do something out of spite,” he says wryly.

That gives me pause. I actually stop walking, making Monty stop too. “What…what do you mean?” I ask, smile wavering.

I can't claim to know Monty well. But I know from the look on his face—a deer-in-headlights look I've never seen on Monty—that he's just said something he shouldn’t.

“Monty? What do you mean?” 

Monty sucks in his cheeks, wincing. "Well, for the past few months, my father has been pestering me to get married.” 

“ _Monty,_ ” I say sharply. I have an idea of where this is going, but I want to be wrong.

“And I thought ‘ _why not give him what he wants?_ ’” he continues hurriedly. 

“So this is all some kind of joke to you?” Monty looks over at me, surprised. The vehemence of my voice surprises me, too, but I won't let it show.

Monty forces a weak laugh. “I mean, are you taking it all that seriously?” 

I'm incredulous, “Monty, we're _married_.” 

“For six months,” he says flatly.

It hits like a slap to the face. I don't have any certainties about the next six months, but at least I had _hope_. Monty seems so certain that this isn't going to work. It makes me feel stupid for ever thinking we could. I pull my hand out of Monty’s. "So you just…don’t care about this?”

“That's not what I said.”

“No, you just said you don't take this seriously.” 

Monty scoffs. “God, Perce, I didn't realize this would be such a big deal.” 

“Of course it’s a big deal, Monty! What's the point of us even doing this if you're not even willing to try?”

“Because you’re stuck with me now,” Monty snaps.

“So that’s all this is to you?” I demand. “We’re just _stuck_ with each other?” I’m quickly realizing how naive I was to think there might have been something _there_ , that Monty and I might have a chance. We’re practically still strangers. I assumed Monty’s flirtations meant he felt the same way I did, but maybe he is just like that. Monty has more experience than I could ever dream of having—maybe that’s all I am to him. Another experience that he’ll move on from. “Did this week even mean _anything_ to you? Have I just been wasting my time?”

“You signed up for this, darling. It’s not my fault you read so much into it.”

I’m trying to fight the pull behind my eyes. I’m not about to start crying, especially not over this. I’m just frustrated. We’re already making a scene, raising our voices at each other in the street like this. “How is this ever going to work if you don’t even want a marriage?” I ask, trying to lower my voice.

“Maybe it just…won’t,” Monty says plainly. “Don’t try to make something out of nothing, Percy.”

It hurts. It hurts more than I could have predicted it would. It’s only been a week but I let myself think there really was something between Monty and I. I let him make a small place in my heart and here he is, trashing it. I suppose it _is_ my fault for putting so much hope into so little time, for not taking things slower because I’m so new to this, but I thought we were on the same page. “Can you just…go? Leave me alone for a bit?” I finally ask. I don’t know where I expect him to go. We are sharing a room. But I just need a few minutes away from him, before I say something I might not be able to take back.

Monty, however, seems to be having similar thoughts. “Don’t take things so seriously, darling,” he says, and then he storms off.


	3. the marriage (part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOOK PRETTY GOOD FOR A DEAD BITCH!!!!  
> in all seriousness though y'all have no idea how sorry I am this took so long. I wanted to have this chapter out by halloween but alas, school. I did warn y'all about my slowness but still,,,it's been a while. thank y'all for your patience and all the support this fic has gotten!!! it makes me so happy and it keeps me going :')  
> just a heads up about this chapter, child abuse is talked about pretty extensively (which is pretty standard in a tggtvav fic but I figured y'all could still use the warning)  
> enjoy! I love y'all! comments are appreciated! I apologize in advance!

[ **fic playlist! (if you've followed it before please use this link because the old one is on my old spotify out of date :'D)** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63AbhooOOjdKLlMQCEwSru?si=kXk-waemRxKshbPDStjGjw)

**monty**

The first thing I did after my fight with Percy was find a drink. Multiple drinks, actually. Faking sobriety takes a much larger toll when you never get a moment alone. Although I tried to drink less leading up to the wedding, a week of stone-cold sobriety is a new circle of hell for me. Luckily, I’ve always had a bit of a talent for finding the nearest bar. I drank for a while trying to forget what I was drinking about and it worked at first. I even started flirting with a girl down the bar, until she noticed my ring which I had totally forgotten about. (In my defense, I’ve only been married for a week.) Thankfully all she said was “I don’t want to be on your wife’s shit list” before getting up and walking away, which was fair. It reminded me of why I was drinking in the first place: because I got in a fight with Percy.

I’m not even fully sure how we got there. The entire conversation seemed to get away from me. Suddenly Percy was asking about my parents and then about the show and then about _us_.

Maybe that’s the problem. Percy assuming there’s an _us_ . I like Percy, don’t get me wrong. There are far worse strangers to marry. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? We’re still _strangers_ and Percy was acting like we were real husbands, like this is more than a six-month agreement. I kept thinking about what my father said. 

_When this ‘marriage’ fails, as we both know it will,_ he said, _you are going to settle down with whatever woman I deem suitable for you that_ will _tolerate you._

He was certain that no one would last six months with me. I don’t like to say this often but my father may have been right, for plenty of reasons. But when I started hearing my father's voice in my head, I knew I needed to stop drinking. I’ve thought about him far more than I wanted to today.

Now, I’m walking back to the hotel, trying not to think about any of it. This isn’t how I imagined us ending our honeymoon.

I slip into our hotel room as quietly as possible, hoping Percy isn’t awake. I can’t deal with him right now and I don’t think he would believe that I’m sober anyway. The lights are still on but Percy is asleep on the bed with his phone in his hand. I creep over to him, trying not to wake him.

His phone is still on, showing his call history. Against my better judgment, I sneak a look at it, curious. It doesn’t surprise me to see that he was on a _long_ call with his mother. Of course. Because Percy is unnaturally close with his family, meanwhile the only person I’ve heard from in my family since we left is Felicity.

God, I’m tired of thinking about my family today. I don’t know why Percy was being so pushy about it. I can’t find it in myself to still be mad at him though. I’m still fond of Percy. Just because I don’t think we’re ‘til death do us part doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy myself this past week. It didn’t mean as much to me as it obviously meant to Percy, but it didn’t mean _nothing_ to me. I didn’t _want_ to hurt him.

When I’m certain Percy is well asleep, I gently pull his phone from his hands and plug it in on the bedside table, pull the covers over him, and press a kiss to his temple.

When I wake up in the morning—to a troublesome headache, no less—Percy is already up and moving. I sit up groggily, rubbing my eyes. Percy doesn’t look at me. “We have to leave for the airport in thirty minutes,” he says flatly.

I stare at him for a few seconds. It’s too early and I’m too hungover to deal with this. Not too hungover to remember why he’s being so cold with me, though, so is the hangover even worth it?

When Percy notices that I’m not moving, he looks over at me. “Did you hear what I said?”

I nod and force myself out of bed. I should talk to him. I know I should talk to him. I don’t want to fight with him. But if I’m not even ready to face an open window yet, I’m not ready to face my fight with Percy. I go to the bathroom to get ready. Percy and I finish our individual packing in silence. When we gather our things to leave, Percy is still furiously avoiding my gaze, though he’s not doing very well considering how often he glances over at me. Eventually, I snap at him.

“Are you going to act like this all day?”

Percy startles, turns to me, and frowns. “What?”

I gesture to him. “Like… _that_?”

Percy scoffs. “Don’t take it so seriously,” he says bitterly.

 _Touché_. “Okay, I get it, you’re mad.”

“Why wouldn’t I be mad, Monty?” Percy asks, incredulous. “You only told me you didn’t actually care about our marriage or think it’s going to last more than six months!”

“Look, Perce, I don’t know about you but I’m just not _certain—_ ”

Percy cuts me off. “I’m not asking you to be _certain_. I don’t know how the next six months are going to go either. I just want you to be willing to try, Monty. Is that so hard?”

I hesitate. He makes it sound simple, like this marriage isn’t the most stupid thing either of us has ever done and we didn’t just get lucky that it’s going so well. He must take my silence as rejection because he bristles, looking away.

“Look, if you _really_ don’t want this—”

“It’s not like that, Perce.”

“Then what’s it like, Monty?” he asks, sounding tired.

“I like you,” I say, “and it’s not that I don’t _want_ this to work. But we’re still strangers and…I don’t want us to get our hopes up. But I really like you, and I don’t want to fight with you, especially not for _six months_.” He gives me a look for that so I barrel on. “So I am willing to try.” I hold out my hand, hoping that he’ll take it. A truce, if nothing else. He eyes me warily, looks me up and down.

“Promise me that you’ll take this seriously,” Percy says, “that I’m not wasting my time.”

“I promise,” I say readily. I’m not just saying this because I don’t want to fight with him. I like Percy. A lot. More than I thought I would. I don’t know if he’s my endgame. I’ve never really considered _having_ an endgame. I’ve never been in a real long term relationship. I don’t think of people in the long term. But Percy _almost_ makes me want to, even if the long term is only six months. If only it weren’t so daunting.

After another excruciating moment, Percy extends his hand. I expect him just to shake mine but instead, he takes it, lacing our fingers.

“Okay,” he says. “I still want to do this with you, but you have to want it too.”

“I do.”

My ready answer softens him a little bit. Percy nods. Then, he brings my hand to the back of his lips and kisses it, which throws me more than I would like to admit. When I first did that on our wedding day, it was mostly to keep things from being awkward without making Percy uncomfortable. It feels like it has added weight now.

He drops my hand when he pulls away, but it still feels like reclaimed ground. “Ready to go home, then?”

 _Home_ falls from his lips so easily that again, I’m thrown. But since I’m the one who has been telling Percy not to take everything so seriously, I try not to have much of a reaction.

“Yeah,” I say evenly. “Let’s go home.”

Though the tension between Percy and I doesn’t dissipate immediately, I’m rather confident about it. Especially when our plane home starts to land and I wake up from my nap to once again find Percy asleep on my shoulder.

If nothing else, I think the next six months are going to be just fine.

We still have some time before we’ll actually be let off the plane, so I let Percy sleep and pull out my phone to find a text from Jeanne.

**Jeanne: so how was the honeymoon???**

Jeanne hasn’t texted me much since the wedding, but still more than I anticipated. I think my incredibly short guestlist made Jeanne determined to become my _friend_ even though we can no longer be _friends-with-benefits_. I don’t mind it. I like Jeanne. I just wasn’t expecting it.

Percy stirs beside me but still doesn’t wake up, just presses his face into my shoulder. I press a kiss to the top of his head before I can second-guess myself and turn back to my messages with Jeanne.

**Monty: i think it went really well**

The next week is a flurry of activity getting Percy and I settled as official husbands. Percy moves into my apartment as it’s the bigger and nicer of the two. Helena and Scipio hover as we settle, once again constantly trailing us with cameras. (I’m almost certain that, if they had the budget, they would have followed us on the honeymoon too.) However, completely moving a new person into your life is complicated and I’m glad to have actual adults who know what they’re doing to help out. It’s not easy to transfer everything from Percy’s apartment to mine, mostly because he has so much _stuff_ . Mostly things for teaching or various family keepsakes. Percy has _a lot_ of pictures of his family that become scattered around the apartment. Helena teases me for it, saying the apartment finally has character. I have to admit, the apartment starts to feel more like a home than it ever has in my three years living here. Percy just has a way of making every room feel lived in.

He’s doing it to the kitchen now, hanging up photos and organizing things. There’s a blank wall facing the kitchen island that’s become a gallery of pictures. It’s a bit strange to have my walls suddenly covered in faces that I don’t recognize, but I have never cared much about how this apartment looks. I’ve never had much say in it. However, I doubt my father will be visiting to _inspect_ anytime soon, so I give Percy free rein. We’re almost done now. All that’s left is the kitchen and to finish setting up the office which, until now, had just been a spare room. My father _intended_ for me to use it as an office for work-related things but I never cared enough to. It’s perfect for Percy’s teaching stuff though.

“Hey, Monty,” Percy says, sitting at the kitchen island. “How about these pictures?”

I look up from the cookware that I’m trying to cram into a cabinet. “I told you you can do whatever you want, Perce.”

“No, I mean come look at them.” Percy waves me over.

I stand, joining Percy at the island. I lean over to see what he’s looking at, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as I do. The tension between us after our argument is practically gone now and we’ve returned to doting on each other with casual affection. I think we’re both treading a little lighter than we were before though.

Percy is holding four photos, each of them taken on our wedding day. They’re the official ones. “Helena gave them to me last time they were here. I like them all but this one’s my favorite.” He pulls a photo from the bottom of the stack. It was taken right after Percy picked me up. He’s holding me and we’re both laughing, looking absolutely enamored with each other. I didn’t realize they had taken a picture of us then.

I see why it’s his favorite.

“Can I put this one with those?” he asks, gesturing to the gallery.

“With…your family photos?” I ask, more surprised than anything. I’m suddenly glad the cameras have already left for the day so they can’t preserve the look on my face.

Percy seems to realize the implications. “Only if it’s okay with you, of course,” he rushes out. “I won’t put it there if—”

I cut him off, squeezing his shoulder. “Relax, darling. I don’t mind.”

I’m hit with a sudden feeling akin to panic that starts to set in at moments like these, whenever this marriage feels like something large and enduring. But then Percy smiles, clearly pleased by my answer and trying to hide it, and that panic lessens, replaced with something like fondness.

The following Monday, I have to return to work. I’m dreading it, especially because I haven’t heard from my father since the day after the wedding, and his anger only festers over time. He said we would finish our conversation when I returned from the honeymoon and he is a man of his word. I make my coffee with a bit more liquor than I probably should. It’s the only way I’m going to get through today. Driving might be a bit more of a risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take. I’ve had to restrain myself even more with Percy around but he’s not awake yet and some kind of alcohol in my system is a necessity to face my father.

It’s deja vu when I get to work, clock in, and don’t even make it to my office before my father calls me into his, an edge in his voice that makes me even more nervous. I barely have both feet in the door before he slaps me.

“I don’t think I need to tell you why I’m so disappointed in you, Henry.”

I don’t say anything, don’t respond. I stare at the space beside my father’s head, too afraid to look at him and too afraid to move.

What a pitiful mess he makes me with just a few words.

My father isn’t having any of it, though. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he orders. I do, meeting his gaze and immediately wishing I could pull mine away. “I don’t even know where to begin with you. To marry a stranger without my permission was one thing, but to marry a _man_ —”

“He wasn’t my choice,” I force out.

My father regards me for a few long moments. “I don’t think you’re understanding me, Henry,” he finally says. “It’s not about… _that_ man. It’s that it was a man at all.”

I don’t know what to say. He’s furious, I know. I’ve been near-hospitalized for doing less with other men. It doesn’t matter how many times I cried and swore that I can’t change that part of me.

Sometimes I think that if _he could_ , I would let him. I try not to let myself think that because, at any other time, I would never want to change. I don’t hate my queerness, no matter how much my father tries to convince me that I should. But _sometimes_ …

Sometimes.

“You’ve shamed the Montague name more than enough, Henry. You don’t deserve your place in this family. You never have.”

“Good thing I’m not a Montague anymore, then.”

He hits me for that one. “Don’t test me, Henry. I’m giving you more grace than you’ve ever earned. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Yes, sir.”

My father sits behind his desk, though I still feel like he’s looming over me. “I’ll make my terms clear to you one last time. For the next six months, you will not be welcome in my house. You will receive no financial support from me. Be grateful that I’m kind enough to let you keep your position. It’s not worth going to the trouble of replacing you because when this so-called marriage ends in six months, you’ll start doing as I say. I’ve been too lenient with you. I eased up on you when you got your drinking problem under control because I thought it would improve your behavior, but evidently not.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like I’m the one being exhausting. “So you get six months, Henry. Then you’ll learn your lesson about stunts like this or I’ll see to it to teach you.”

“How do you—” I start, then stop when my father pins me with a dangerous look. Still, I press on. “How do you know this will only last six months?”

My father stares at me, then laughs humorlessly. “I know you’re not that dense. Don’t fool yourself, Henry. You and I both know no one would ever choose you without some kind of incentive.”

I flinch even though he didn’t swing at me. I can’t argue so I just look down, staring at my shaking hands.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” my father demands again. His voice has taken on a new, threatening edge, so I know better than to disobey. “Have I made myself clear?” he asks when I meet his eyes. I nod. “Well?”

“Yes, sir.”

My father nods, appeased. I think that will be the end of it and start to back towards the door.

“I did not dismiss you, Henry.”

I freeze. Of course, I would never get so lucky as to get away with two blows when he’s this angry. He stands up. I pull my shoulders up on reflex. He beckons me closer.

“You’ve grown too accustomed to acting out and thinking there will be no consequences of your actions. Perhaps you need the reminder.”

I study my face in the faculty bathroom mirror. It’s not good by any means. It’s been worse, absolutely, but it’s not good. My father hasn’t hit me this much in a while, though it’s been a long time since I’ve done something so rash. Ever since our reckoning last year, I’ve tried to keep my head low. In any case, my father doesn’t hit me as much now as he used to when I was younger. Sometimes I think he’s mellowed with age, or he knows injuries at this age are a little harder to brush off. It’s more likely that he probably just doesn’t care as much anymore.

None of it really matters now. I still look like shit.

I stare at my reflection, trying to sift through my residual panic and form some kind of coherent thoughts. I can’t hide in this bathroom all day.

My first thought catches me off guard. _What is Percy going to think when he sees this?_ That I’m pathetic because I’m twenty-five years old and still letting my father hit me like a child? I won’t deny it, but I don’t want Percy to realize that. Percy isn’t stupid. He’s going to piece together what happened whether I tell him or not.

I can field questions for most of the day. I knew this meeting was coming, so I brought makeup to cover the bruises. But I won’t be able to hide them from Percy forever. I know my face is bad and I’m certain it’s not the only place that looks as bad as it feels.

 _One thing at a time_ , I remind myself. 

I set to work covering the bruises.

The rest of the day seems to go by in a haze. Despite the fact that my father already doled out his punishment, I can’t seem to sit still or keep anything down. Sitting at my desk feels like sitting in a trap waiting for it to go off. Going back to my apartment that evening is a relief.

The relief is short-lived, however, when I remember that I won’t be able to sprawl out on the couch with a drink as I’m used to doing after a day like this. Percy is home and generally will be for the next two weeks or so until school starts again. I typically like having Percy here, making the apartment feel less lonesome. Today I just want him to get lost. But, as he lives here too, I don’t see that happening.

I can’t stay aggravated with Percy, though, not when I step inside the apartment to find him in the kitchen, slightly dancing to whatever indie album he has playing while he makes something on the stove. It’s cute. I lean against the kitchen doorway, watching him. Although there aren’t any more cameras, Percy and I are still supposed to be “documenting our marriage,” so I record him for a minute or so. I don’t know whether it’s something the show would want or not, but I don’t mind having it. Percy doesn’t notice me until he does a little spin and startles when he sees me. His face turns pink.

“Oh, Monty.” He leans over, grabbing his phone and pausing his music. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to enjoy the show.”

Percy smiles, bashful, and turns back to the stove. “Don’t get used to it.”

“What are you making?” I ask, deciding to spare him. I join him at the stove.

“Just veggie pasta,” Percy says. “We’ve been living on takeout since we got home and I had nothing to do today so I figured I’d make something while you were gone.”

He says it all so nonchalantly like cooking is no big thing. Maybe it isn’t but the closest I’ve ever gotten to _making pasta_ is instant macaroni and cheese. He doesn’t need to know that though.

“And who says you can’t be a house husband?” I tease instead. Percy gives me a look and I laugh. “I’m kidding! If anyone is trophy husband material in this relationship, it’s me.”

Percy snorts. “Trophy husband and house husband aren’t exactly the same thing. If you’re my trophy husband, does that mean I’m still doing all the work?”

“You get it, darling,” I say, kissing his cheek.

He playfully pushes me away. I laugh again but back off. “You’re a doll, Perce!” I call before slipping into our bedroom to change out of my work clothes. When I return, Percy is serving the pasta into two bowls. I try to make myself seem useful too and pour waters for both of us. We sit at the little dining table and Percy sets a bowl in front of me with a kiss to my cheek. I try not to flinch when he does.

After dinner, I handle the dishes we’ve been neglecting for the past week. Typically I wouldn’t have jumped at the chance but I need the distraction and, as Percy leaves me to it, gives me time to drink a little. Not enough to be risky, but enough for me to stop feeling like a string pulled taut. Then it’s late enough that I can shower, so I do, taking longer than I really need to but never wanting to step out.

It’s not until after my shower that I confront my face in the mirror. It’s still not good. If anything, some of the bruises look worse than they did this morning. I start to tremble with nerves, which just makes me feel more pitiful. I don’t know what I expect to happen—I’ve never been in a situation like this before—but I’m sure it’s nothing to be so worked up over. And yet, here I am panicking like the coward that I am. I can’t hide the bruises forever so I might as well rip off the bandage. My only other option is covering them again and sleeping that way.

I bite the bullet and slip out of the bathroom.

Percy is in the office when I step out, so I might be able to make it to our room inconspicuous. I try to move quickly without seeming like I’m running down the hall. Before I make it to our room, though, Percy calls for me. “Hey, Monty?”

 _Shit_. I freeze. Do I go to him? Do I ignore him?

I don’t have to decide. Moments later, Percy leans out of the office doorway. “So, I was—” He stops, noticing my face. “What… _happened_ to you?”

“Nothing,” I say instinctually. That’s obviously bullshit when he can see the bruises on my face, but I’m _so_ not ready for this conversation.

“That’s not _nothing_ ,” Percy presses.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I do.”

I don’t say anything to that. Percy studies me, frowning.

“Did you…hide those when you came home?”

“No, Perce, I got into a fistfight in the shower,” I say flatly.

“Monty, we have to talk about this.”

“Do you even know what you’re talking about?” I snap.

For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. Percy continues to study me. I glare at him until he speaks. “Was it your father?” he asks. His voice is quiet, measured, but his words hang in the silence.

“You just don’t know how to quit with this, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything. I can tell he wants to back off but he’s determined.

“So we’re doing this now?” I finally ask.

“Was it?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking if you already know the answer.”

“I don’t want to make assumptions, Monty. But when we had brunch with our parents…”

Right. The flinch. I didn’t forget about it. How could I have? I was mortified. I rarely slip like that, but I also rarely have large, fatherly men raising a hand around me. It made me look like a kicked puppy. Of course, Josee told Percy.

I can’t look at Percy now. Do we have to do this? Do we have to have this conversation? Can’t we just turn a blind eye to it for the next six months? Can’t we treat it like everyone always has?

“Fine,” I say. “My father did this. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” Percy says gently. The pity is so plain on his face I want to smack it right off. “I didn’t want to be _right_ , Monty, I just…” He trails off. “I can’t just stand here and watch this happen to you.”

I scoff. “There’s nothing you can do.” That only makes him look more distraught, so I continue. “Besides, you won’t have anything to worry about. My father and I won’t be having another one of these meetings anytime soon. I’ve been effectively disowned for…however long this lasts.” I gesture between us. Percy doesn’t rise to that, letting the silence hang. I keep talking, anything to get him to stop staring at me like he is. “It’s fine, though. He’s letting me keep my job, so you…don’t have to worry about that either.”

Percy laughs humorlessly. “God, Monty, I’m not worried about _that_.”

“Then what else are you worried about, Perce?!” I snap.

“You!” he replies, matching my intensity.

I flinch. His words give me pause and I take a step back. I stare at the ceiling, fighting his piercing gaze and the pull behind my eyes. “Do we have to talk about this?” I sound choked up.

“I know it’s not really my place, but—”

“You’re right! It’s not!” I look at him again and see his resolve crumbling. He’s taken a step back too. “What did you want from this? _Confirmation_? Congratulations, Percy, you were right!”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then _what_?” I demand. “What do you want from me?”

Percy opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He stares at me like he isn’t sure what he wants either.

“Well, let me know when you figure it out,” I say dryly. “I’m going to bed.”

It’s mostly an excuse to get Percy to leave me alone, but I am fucking exhausted. The day has taken a toll on me. I retreat to my bedroom, not slamming the door but shutting it with enough force that Percy gets the message, and collapse onto the bed.

Despite my weariness, sleep doesn’t come easy. I lay there for a long time, trying to ignore the dull throbbing of my bruises and relax enough to sleep, but it doesn’t work. Eventually, Percy starts practicing his violin somewhere in the apartment. He told me that he played but I hadn’t heard him really play until now and, while I’m no musical expert, he’s obviously good at it. It would be nice and soothing if I weren’t so angry with him. (It is still nice and soothing, but I’m still furious.)

He practices for a long time. I listen. It occurs to me that we’re still supposed to be filming check-ins for the show, but there’s no way we’re doing that tonight. If I ended up on TV looking like _this_ , I would never hear the end of it. Besides, I don’t think I could muster the energy to get up again. So I just lay there, listening to Percy, not even worried about sleeping anymore until he stops. Moments later, the bedroom door opens and I pretend to be fast asleep so Percy doesn’t try to talk to me again. I hear the bedroom door shut and feel the mattress dip with Percy’s weight as he sits on his side of the bed. I wait, hoping my anticipation isn’t obvious on my face. It feels too obvious to roll over right as he joins me.

There’s a touch, so light I don’t even think to flinch. He gently cards his fingers through my hair before kissing my cheek, even lighter, more like a brush of lips than a kiss. He’s careful to avoid the bruises. He runs his fingers through my hair once more and softly touches my cheek. The gesture pulls at something in my chest that I can’t name. I know I won’t be able to maintain my composure with Percy being so damn soft with me. If he knows I’m awake, he might try to talk to me, and I can’t tolerate any more emotions today. I do the only thing I can think of and, obviousness be damned, roll over, turning my back to him.

Slowly, the bruises heal. Percy and I don’t acknowledge them, though I still notice him giving me worried glances. We try to carry on as usual but he treats me like a fragile thing. He holds me like he might crush me in his hands. I hate it and I want to shout at him for it, but I don’t know what I would say. And sometimes it’s nice that he’s so gentle with me, but I can’t forget why he’s treating me like this.

There’s a distance between us now. One that I’m determined to close.

“I don’t understand why _I_ have to help you with this.”

“Come on, Felicity,” I say, almost dropping my phone as I set grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “You’re the only one willing to listen.”

“ _Willing_ is a strong word,” she retorts.

“You’re the only one I can _force_ to listen.”

“What about Jeanne? Aren’t you two…friends now?”

“We’ve always been friends.”

“Maybe in the biblical sense.”

I bark out a laugh. “Felicity!” She just makes a noncommittal sound. “Regardless of the _specifics_ of my relationship with Jeanne, she’s working, so you’re stuck with me.”

Felicity sighs. “Fine. Tell me again what you’re doing?”

“Cooking dinner for Percy.”

“And you’re doing this…why?”

I start emptying bags. “Well, it’s our one month anniversary today and things haven’t been…the most solid between us, so I thought this would make up for it.”

“Did you two get into a fight?”

“Something like that.”

“Why—”

“What happened isn’t important,” I say quickly. “I just want to know if it’s a good idea or not.”

Felicity hesitates before she answers. “Monty have you ever _actually_ cooked before?”

“No, but how hard can it be?”

Felicity doesn’t respond to that for a long moment. “Just have the fire department on speed dial,” she finally says and hangs up. Fine. I don’t need Felicity’s approval anyway. I’ve already set my heart on this.

It’s been a month since Percy and I got married, three weeks since our honeymoon. Things have been… _fine_ . They’ve been strange. It’s like for as many steps forward we took on our honeymoon, we took half-steps back. Maybe it’s just what they say about the _honeymoon phase_ , but I’m tired of dancing around Percy. I thought a small anniversary dinner would help. Besides, Percy’s been doing all of the cooking and I don’t want to seem like the useless husband (however true that may be). Percy has been going back to work this week to prepare for school starting again next week. This puts him getting home later than I do, so I have the perfect opportunity. I picked up ingredients on my way home from work and should be able to finish the pasta (which looked easiest to cook) before Percy gets home.

Cooking, however, turns out to be a lot harder than it looks. It takes me a while. When I started, I tried to film myself because this seems like the kind of show content they would want, but I stopped when I almost dropped my phone into boiling water. I don’t have anything finished when Percy comes home. When I hear the front door open I rush to meet him, thinking I can somehow distract him.

“Percy!”

Percy looks surprised when I round the corner to meet him. “Hey, Monty,” he says with a hesitant smile.

“Hi!” I say, then stop. I’m not sure what else to say.

Percy studies me warily. “Are you…okay?”

“I’m fine!”

Percy nods slowly like he doesn’t believe me, then frowns. “What’s that smell?”

“What?” I pause and try to pinpoint what he’s smelling.

“Is that…smoke?”

I run back to the kitchen, Percy on my heels. There, on the stove, is my pasta, smoking. “Shit!” I yank the spoon out of the pot, grab the pot and dump the pasta into the sink, then set the pot back on the counter before it burns my hands.

There’s a click behind me and I turn to see Percy tentatively turning off the stove. He reaches past and takes the pot, putting it in the sink too. He turns back to me. “Monty? What just happened?”

“I—” I choke on my words. It sounds so stupid now, my idea to make dinner for Percy, especially when I’ve only managed to fuck it up. “I wanted to make dinner tonight. For our one month anniversary,” I add when Percy looks confused. “But I can’t really cook? But you’re always cooking so I thought it wouldn’t be so hard and I could do it but clearly, I can’t because I fucked up and now we have burnt noodles.”

I’m rambling now but I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know why Percy has the ability to reduce me to this. My father often likes to remind me how shameless I am, but the bewildered look Percy is giving me as I spew absolute nonsense makes so much shame well up in me it’s like fucking Hot Springs. Of course, not without good reason. What kind of husband am I if I can’t do this one simple thing without almost burning down the kitchen?

Percy tentatively takes the spoon out of my hand, which I’ve been gesturing with as I talk, probably before I take out one of our eyes. I shut up. Then, Percy pulls me into his arms.

He’s hugging me.

Shit.

I tense. Obviously, I’m no stranger to touch. Percy and I have been more intimate than this before. I’ve been _far_ more intimate than this with other people before. But I don’t think I’ve been _hugged_ in literal _years._ I can’t remember the last time someone just held me in their arms. It’s so unfamiliar that it makes me freeze up. Percy notices and starts to pull away, but then I tighten my arms around him and he stops. He pulls me close by my waist and puts his other hand on the back of my head, kissing the top of my head. I press my face into the crook of his neck because if I start crying over something as simple as a hug, I’m going to have to fake my death—or just die—to avoid the embarrassment.

We just stand there, hugging. I think I could spend the rest of the night like this, anniversary dinner be damned, which I know just makes me even more pathetic. I’m so pathetic and I don’t think Percy doesn’t notice, especially considering I’m having something short of an emotional meltdown over dinner. I just think he’s pretending to ignore it.

Percy hums and pulls back too soon. He takes my face in his hands and gives me a fond smile that makes me feel like falling to pieces. “I think it’s really sweet that you tried,” he murmurs. I let out something like a laugh. “It is!” Percy insists. “You’re surprisingly romantic, Monty Newton.” He nudges my nose with his, teasing a real smile out of me. “How about we cook dinner _together_? I’ll show you how to do it.”

“And keep me from burning down the kitchen,” I add.

Percy nods. “That too.” He kisses me, soft and sweet. “Let’s start from scratch.”

After we clean up the remains of my failed dinner attempt (though Percy does take a picture of it first “for the show”), Percy and I manage to cook a fairly edible dinner together. He walks me through the steps like this is all completely normal.

“See? Not so hard,” he says as I serve the edible pasta into bowls.

I make a noncommittal sound. “So much for a surprise on our anniversary.”

Percy smiles—an adorable tipped-head smile of his that I’m a little in love with—and slips an arm around my waist. “Well, you did surprise me,” he says. “Just not the way you wanted to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I playfully push him off. “Go sit. I at least want to do some of this right.”

He does as I say, sitting at the table and letting me bring him his plate. I set the plate in front of me. When I do, I tilt up Percy’s chin and kiss him. I’m hesitant because, other than when he kissed me before we started cooking, we haven’t kissed recently. Not since our argument about my father at least. But Percy returns the kiss happily, and I think maybe we’ll be able to make things right between us after all.

Percy and I settle into a domestic routine of sorts. We both work during the week and, now that Percy is back to teaching, I get home before he does. Percy still does most of the cooking (“I’m still not sure you’re ready to be trusted at the stove by yourself.”) so if he wants ingredients for dinner, it’s my job to get it on my way home. Percy cooks when he gets home and clean up is usually my job. We spend most evenings doing our own thing in the same room and try to keep up with doing video diaries for the show. I get used to it after three weeks or so.

So I’m surprised when I come home one afternoon to find Percy’s car already parked outside. Maybe he just got to come home early.

“Hey, Perce,” I say when I enter our apartment. I pause when there’s no response. “Percy?” I go to check the office and stop halfway there. I hear a strange sound in the living room and detour there. That’s where I find him, on the floor, _seizing_.

For a few seconds, I can’t do anything but stare. I knew this would happen eventually. I researched (well, asked Felicity to tell me everything she knows about) epilepsy after Percy told me he had it. I _prepared_ for this. I memorized the steps so that if Percy had a seizure while I was around, I would know exactly what to do. But I’m so nervous that I’ll do the wrong thing that at first, I can’t do _anything_. Then I force myself into action.

I pull my phone out to time the seizure, although he was already seizing by the time I got here. Percy must have fallen on the floor between the couch and the coffee table so I shove the coffee table away so he doesn’t hit it. I turn Percy on his side and grab a pillow from the couch to put under his head.

Then all I can do is wait at Percy’s side. I know the seizures aren’t that dangerous. Percy said as long as I do these things, he should get through a seizure unharmed. That doesn’t make it any less scary to watch, though. To just watch and not be able to do anything. It feels like the seizure lasts forever, even though the timer says it was closer to two minutes.

When Percy comes to, he’s groggy, blinking up at me. “Monty?”

I give him my best attempt at a reassuring smile. “Hey, darling. How are you feeling?”

Percy grimaces. “Tired.”

“Can you stand?” I ask.

Percy gets unsteadily to his feet and I help him to our bed. He’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. I leave Percy to sleep but stay near to keep an eye on him. I change out of my clothes from work and reheat leftovers in the kitchen.

An hour and a half later, Percy wakes up. I’m sitting at the end of the bed, texting Jeanne to pass the time. Percy sits up, startling when he sees me. “Hi.”

“Hi, Perce,” I reply, reaching for his hand. He lets me take it.

“I had a seizure?” Percy says it like he isn’t sure.

“Yeah,” I say. “You scared me there, darling.”

Percy looks away. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re fine.” I squeeze his hand and he looks back up at me. He still looks tired, a little spacey. “Well, _are_ you fine? Do you feel alright?”

“I’ll…I’ll be fine,” Percy says, more to himself than to me. “Just tired. My head hurts.”

“Did you hit your head? I tried to keep you from getting hurt but the seizure already started when I got here—“

“No, I’m okay.” He starts to get up. “I left school early because I felt…the seizure coming on and…” Percy trails off, gesturing vaguely. “But I need to do some work stuff to make up for it.” He gets to his feet but he’s unsteady.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I put a hand on his arm and guide Percy back to bed. He doesn’t put up a fight, but he makes a face at me. “Rest.”

“Monty, I’m—”

“Not stable on your feet.” I push him back onto the pillows. “Don’t make me tie you to the bed.”

“What, would you enjoy it?” Percy teases.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.” I kiss his cheek. “But maybe some other time. Right now you’re resting until you can actually _stand_.”

Percy grumbles but does as I say without much complaint. He spends the rest of the day mostly in bed.

The next day, Percy still isn’t feeling like himself. He stays home from work and I stay with him. Percy protests soundly to this but I won’t hear it. If I had gotten home any later yesterday, Percy would have gone through his seizure alone. He could’ve gotten hurt. I don’t want to risk anything like that happening again.

I stay home the day after too when Percy wakes up and says he still feels off. But when I check on him after making coffee, he’s up and getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Percy stops, caught in the act. “I’m going back to school today.”

“I thought you said you still didn’t feel well.”

Percy avoids my gaze. “I mean, I don’t feel _great_ but—”

“Percy!” I scold.

“I only have so many sick days, Monty. I don’t feel my best but I’m fine enough that I should go if I can.” He finishes pulling a shirt over his head. “I’ll be fine, really.”

I narrow my eyes at him but Percy doesn’t budge. “Fine, but if you start feeling worse—”

Percy cuts me off with a kiss. “Monty, I appreciate the concern, I really do, but you don’t need to worry about me.” I must not look convinced because he adds, “Seriously, Monty, I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so, darling.”

Even though Percy goes into work, I’ve already called the day off, so I stay home. I can’t make my father any angrier at this point. I don’t do much except laze around and drink. I come to realize that I’ve grown used to having Percy around and without him, I’m rather bored. By midday, I need something to do with myself, so I text Percy.

**Monty: are you still at school**

Percy responds twenty minutes later.

 **Percy:** **Yes?**

**Monty: do you have lunch**

**Percy: No**

**Monty: do you want me to bring you lunch??**

**Percy: Sure?? Shouldn’t you be working right now?**

**Monty: details details**

After making certain I don’t smell like I’ve been drinking all day, I set out. I pick up lunch for Percy and drive to his school. I go to the front office where a receptionist is sitting at the front desk.

She smiles when I walk in. “Good morning! How can I help you?”

“I just need to bring something to Mister Newton.”

“Sure thing!” She reaches for a pen. “Can I get a name for your visitor’s sticker?”

“Monty Newton,” I say without thinking. I haven’t had to introduce myself like this since I got married. I hadn’t really thought about _how_ I would start introducing myself. When Percy calls me Monty Newton, it doesn’t sound so bad—definitely better than Monty Montague.

The receptionist looks up, studying me. “Are you and Mister Newton…related?”

I grin. “Married, actually,” I say, showing off my ring (which I might enjoy doing a little too much).

The receptionist’s eyes widen. “Oh! I—I didn’t know Percy even had a…partner.”

“We got married this past summer.” I’m still smiling politely, but I’m suddenly very worried I might have just outed Percy to his coworkers. I figured he was out everywhere considering his family knows and he got married to another man on television, but maybe not.

“Oh, well…congratulations!” The receptionist hurriedly finishes writing up my visitor’s sticker and slides it over to me. “Down the hall to your right and through the small doors past the auditorium doors,” she says, then stops. “But I’m sure you know that, sorry.”

I didn’t, so I’m glad that she told me. “Thanks anyway.” I follow her directions down the hall and find Percy’s classroom, although it’s not easy to miss. Each classroom door has a sign with the teacher’s name on it.

When I near the door, I hear the orchestra playing inside. No one is going to hear me if I knock, so I let myself in. I pause in the doorway, watching Percy conduct his students that are sitting in the risers. Sometimes when Percy tells me about students (when he isn’t complaining), I see pride painted on his face. Percy loves teaching. I’ve known this but here, it’s plain to see.

They finish the song. “That was really good!” Percy says.

A girl in the back of the risers raises a hand. “Mister Newton?” When she has Percy’s attention, she points to me.

Percy turns, surprised. “Oh, hi, Monty.”

“Hey, darling.” Percy’s cheeks go pink at the nickname. “Are these your kids?” I ask, joining him at his podium.

“Uh, some of them,” Percy says. He still looks flustered, probably made worse by the wide eyes most of his students are giving him. He introduces me. “Everyone…this is my husband.”

“The other Mister Newton,” I add on just to watch Percy’s face redden even more. I laugh and he glares at me. “He’s adorable when he blushes, isn’t he?” I say to his kids, making some of them laugh. I turn back to Percy. “Well, I brought you lunch.” I give Percy the bag. “But can I talk to you for a second?”

Percy frowns. “Sure.” He turns to his kids, some of which are still staring at Percy like he’s the new gay messiah. Because I know what I would have needed at this moment in high school, I take Percy’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Percy pulls me through a small door off the side of the room into a smaller office, shutting the door. He sets his lunch on a cluttered desk. I don’t know how he fits anything else on it among the stacks of papers and pictures. “You just like embarrassing me, don’t you?”

“It’s one of many perks to this marriage.” I wind my arms around Percy’s neck, pulling him close and kissing him softly. When we pull away, I lean on his desk, studying the numerous pictures of him and various orchestra students. “How are you feeling?”

“Hm? I’m alright.” When I give him a look, he laughs. “Really, I am! I’m not about to collapse or anything.”

“I suppose that’s always good. So,” I begin slowly, “you didn’t tell anyone you got married?”

Percy winces. “Not really any of my coworkers.”

“The receptionist seemed more shocked by the notion of me being your husband than being related to you.”

“Yeah, Delia…she’s one of many reasons I didn’t really tell anyone. I’m not really _out_ here.”

“Shit, did I—”

“I mean I don’t _care_ ,” Percy rushes to say. “I wasn’t keeping it a _secret_. I just don’t really mention it.”

“No kidding. Some of your students looked at you like you were a new man.”

“I’m not sure if I’m even allowed to tell them that I’m gay.”

“You didn’t tell them. They just…inferred.”

Percy snorts.

“I’m sure they’ll be happy about it, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Percy, you teach _orchestra_ . There’s at least _one_ gay kid.”

Percy laughs. “Alright, you’ve got me there,” he says. “You know I appreciate the food, but really, why _aren’t_ you at work?”

“Let’s not get bogged down in technicalities—”

“ _Monty_.”

“Well, I originally planned on staying home with you today. When you decided you were going to work, I had already called in so…” I trail off. “But then I got bored and brought you lunch.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “As much as I would love to keep you entertained, I need to get back to my class. I only trust them for so long before something gets set on fire.” I laugh. Percy starts for the door but I stop him. “Wait, wait.” Percy does, looking at me questioningly. I run my fingers through his hair haphazardly, making it look like we exchanged more than a few chaste kisses.

Percy catches on and bats my hand away. “Monty!”

I just grin, kissing his cheek before I’m out the door. “I’ll see you after school, darling.”

Percy and I get rather good at being husbands. One of the reasons for this is _date nights_. Percy may call me the romantic, but he’s the one with all the sappy ideas. It turns out he was rather charmed by my sad attempts at doing something for our one-month anniversary. He proposed doing something like that every weekend, and who am I to deny Percy anything? So, every Saturday, Percy and I make dinner (well, Percy makes and I help at his behest so I can be ‘trusted in a kitchen again’) and do something together after, whereas most nights we just coexist. Though it’s only been a month since that first disastrous dinner, our date nights have become something to look forward to.

Tonight, we made stir-fry and now we’re watching a horror movie because it’s almost October. Well, _watching_ is a generous term. I’m trying not to, and it’s easy to be distracted now that I’ve made myself comfortable in Percy’s arms. Percy doesn’t mind the movie and I’m determined not to be the one that chickens out. I think Percy can tell, though. When I flinch at a jumpscare, he leans in, nudging my cheek with his nose. “We can watch something else, you know.”

“Nope,” I say a little too quickly. “We are going to see this movie through.”

Percy snorts. He reaches around me, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie. “If you don’t like horror movies, you could have just said so.”

“I don’t _not like_ horror movies.” Percy gives me a look. “They’re just…not my idea of a good time. Still, we’re going to finish this.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “You are so stubborn sometimes.”

“Please, you adore it,” I retort.

“I never said I didn’t.”

I grin up at him which Percy returns with a genuine smile. Then he gently touches his nose to mine and, God, sometimes I’m so enamored with him that it takes me by surprise. “Well, I suppose there are _other things_ we could be doing.” I lean in until our lips are a hairsbreadth apart.

I feel more than see Percy’s grin. “I think that’s a great idea.” He closes the gap, kissing me.

I think it goes without saying that I haven’t had sex in a little over two months which, for me, is _not_ a short time. So when our kiss lasts longer than most, I take the chance to take it further, running my fingers through Percy’s hair. Soon, Percy pulls me into his lap. Even at a time like this, he’s gentle, holding my waist and my cheek. I take things at his pace, letting him slip a hand under my shirt before I slip mine under his. I move my lips to his neck, pressing kisses and drawing a pleased hum from Percy. He pulls my shirt over my head and pulls me by my neck into a searing kiss. I eagerly oblige. I reach for his belt then, about to make quick work of it when Percy tenses.

He pulls back from the kiss. “Monty,” he says. His voice is pitched, but not in a pleading, _please have sex with me right now_ way. I immediately pull my hands off of him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I’m sorry but I can’t do this,” Percy stammers. “I’m not ready for this.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” suddenly I’m stammering too, my neck and my face aflame. I climb off of Percy with very little grace, nearly stumbling. “I shouldn’t have—” I start saying just as Percy interrupts and then we’re talking over each other.

“No, no, it’s my fault—”

“No, you told me—”

“I led you on—”

“I didn’t make sure—”

“Monty!” I stop. Percy laughs awkwardly. “Let’s just…stop.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. For a few agonizing moments, we just avoid each other’s eyes. Percy still looks frustratingly attractive, his curls disheveled and his lips kissed red. It doesn’t do anything for the very obvious problem between my legs. “Well,” I finally say, unable to handle the silence anymore, “I’m going to take a shower.” I scoop my shirt off of the floor and pull it back on before I run with my tail between my legs.

I take a long, cold shower. It really doesn’t take long for me to _calm down_ , but I dread facing Percy so soon. I lean against the shower wall, standing under the water until I’m shivering.

Almost as soon as I finally leave the bathroom, Percy slips in. So that’s how we’re going to do it. We’re starting to get good at hiding from each other in bathrooms. _Oddly enough,_ I think as I pour myself a drink and sit in the kitchen, _it always has to do with sex_.

Not for the first time during this marriage, I find myself wondering if sex with Percy is even a possibility. It’s… _fine_ if it isn’t. Sexually frustrating, yes, but I’m not going to be the dick that pressures Percy into doing something he isn’t comfortable with. I’ve been on the receiving end of that before and it sucks. I’m just not sure if he’ll ever _be_ comfortable with me.

Percy told me he was demisexual the first night we met. If I’m honest, I didn’t fully understand what that meant when he told me. I had to look it up later. But I know that, for Percy, it takes an _emotional connection_ to feel sexual attraction. I thought it was a bit of an odd concept. I never thought sex was such a big deal. Sex and feelings seldom went hand in hand for me. Sex is just something you do when you’re bored and want to feel good. 

These past two months with Percy have been good, or at least good-adjacent. Percy made them good. And I want to at least do a fraction of the same for him. But how am I supposed to when I can’t do anything but this? When this isn’t what Percy wants?

I sigh and rest my forehead on the table. Drinking has done nothing except make me morose. I should stop before Percy finds me like this. I’ve managed to hide my drinking habit from him for this long and ruining that now would only make tonight even more of a mess.

Percy and I dance around each other for the rest of the night. He goes to bed before I do, which is a relief. Waking up in the morning to him gone is less of a relief, though.

There’s no sign of him when I wake up. When I check my phone, I see he texted me.

**Percy: I had to go up to the school I should be back later this evening**

It seems like a pretty weak excuse considering that it’s Sunday, but I’m definitely not going to press him. It’s better this way if last night is still making things so awkward between us. I am bored without Percy though, so I text Jeanne.

**Monty: i fucked up**

I don’t fully expect her to answer. Our texts are sporadic like they always have been. Our newfound friendship mostly consists of texting every now and then when one of us is bored. Surprisingly, she texts back right away.

**Jeanne: get more specific**

**Monty: i fucked up with percy**

**Jeanne: ????**

**Monty: we were kissing and it was fine and i guess i misread the situation or something because i tried to take it further and percy kind of freaked out**

**Jeanne: freaked out how??**

**Monty: he said he couldn’t do it so we stopped**

**Jeanne: was it some kind of miscommunication?? you didn’t know his boundaries???**

**Monty: not exactly**

**Jeanne: what do you mean**

**Monty: i mean i knew what the problem was**

**Monty: percy is demisexual**

**Jeanne: oh**

**Jeanne: is /that/ a problem???**

**Monty: no??? well maybe a little but no???**

**Monty: it’s not like i’m going to divorce him for being demi but,,,i haven’t had sex in like two and a half months and i’m kind of losing it**

**Monty: as made evident by me mauling percy**

**Monty: i apologized but i think he’s still upset with me because he’s avoiding me**

**Jeanne: it might just be awkward**

**Monty: it’s definitely still awkward**

**Monty: he “went to work”**

**Jeanne: isn’t he a teacher?**

**Monty: yes**

**Jeanne: ah**

**Jeanne: well I’m sure he just feels as awkward as you do**

**Jeanne: I don’t think I need to remind you of all people that mistakes during sex or lack thereof happen all the time**

**Monty: hey now**

**Jeanne: :***

**Monty: but percy has never had sex so**

**Monty: just feels like i scared him off or something**

**Jeanne: well if you’re really worried about it you should talk to him about it**

**Monty: when have i ever given you any impression that i talk about these things**

**Jeanne: never but you should**

**Jeanne: it’s a lot less terrible when you actually communicate with each other**

**Monty: sounds fake but ok**

Percy gets home early that evening. I’m sprawled on the couch, but I hear him come in. “Hey, darling,” I call.

“Hey.” Percy appears in the doorway, bags in his hands. “Sorry I sort of disappeared on you this morning.”

I shrug. “You said you had a school thing?”

Percy nods. “I completely forgot we had a rehearsal until this morning.”

“A rehearsal?”

“Yeah, we have an open house next month and they want the whole orchestra to perform so we have to have weekend practices so all my classes can perform together.”

“Oh.” That sounds like a real reason.

“But!” Percy continues, sheepishly offering a bag. “I brought home dinner!”

“Thanks, Perce,” I say, “but I thought we had a lot of leftovers from last night.”

Percy frowns. “I…actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

“The leftovers?”

“Last night.

“Ah.” _Damnit_. I would rather do almost anything else. But Percy looks like he’s about to unravel from nerves. I sit up, moving my legs so he has room on the couch. He sets the takeout on the coffee table and sits beside me. He’s so tense that I want to reach for him but I’m not sure if my touch would be welcome. I’ve had my fair share of awkward post-sex conversations, but awkward post-almost-sex conversations are a first.

Percy fidgets, staring at his lap instead of me. “I’m really sorry about last night.”

“What?” I’m unable to hide my surprise. “ _You’re_ sorry?”

He nods. “Yeah, I didn’t mean to…lead you on like that. I like you, Monty, but we’re not _there_ yet, you know? I should have made that more clear. I’m really sorry for stopping like that.”

“You’re allowed to say _no_ , Perce—”

“I know!” Percy cuts me off. I’m trying to be reassuring but it seems to be having the opposite effect. “I know that. I just…I feel bad. I know it’s probably not… _ideal_ to be with someone like me. Especially because you’re—” He stops. I don’t think he knows how to finish that sentence. I watch him expectantly, mainly because I want to see what he comes up with.

“I’m what, Percy?”

Percy stammers. I think he’s looking for a nice way to call me a slut. I start laughing and Percy reddens. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that! It’s just that I know you’re a lot more…used to this than I am. More experienced. Sex matters more to you than it does to me.”

Nothing that he’s saying isn’t true. But for some reason hearing him say it doesn’t sit quite right with me.

Felicity often makes the joke that I would sleep with anything that breathes. I always just laugh along with her and agree because, sure, why not? She’s not exactly wrong. I sleep around and I’m past the days when I was afraid to admit that. I enjoy sex and it’s been a large part of my life for a long time. But for some reason, implying that to Percy feels vulgar. Percy seems so above it all that admitting to him that I’m an easy lay makes me feel something akin to shame.

I started hooking up with people in high school. I was plenty shamed for and plenty _ashamed_ of it. By the end of my senior year, anyone I hadn’t slept with knew someone that I had. I got a lot of shit for it but I reached a point where I wouldn’t let it bother me. My only two options were to let people keep shaming me for it or to own it, so own it I did. I was a walking bisexual stereotype, but I certainly wasn’t going to stop. Sleeping in the beds of boys and girls I barely knew was better than laying in my own feeling sorry for myself. I liked flirting and hooking up. (I still do, although I’ve done significantly less of the latter since I got married.) If that earned me a reputation, so be it. Besides, if everyone wanted to sleep with me, surely I was doing something right.

But suddenly it doesn’t feel good enough. Suddenly I feel like a teenager again, confused and shamefaced and just wanting to be wanted. Suddenly _I_ don’t feel good enough. Certainly not good enough for Percy. Not for sweet, good, kind Percy, who sex doesn’t even matter to and treats me better than I deserve and does far more for me than I could ever do for him. I just keep finding new ways to let him down.

I realize Percy is still watching me, trying to gauge my reaction to his words. I pull myself out of what feels dangerously like a spiral and nod. That’s nothing I need to think about now anyway. “I guess that is true,” I say, “but that doesn’t mean that I’m… _expecting_ anything of you. If you want to have sex, great. If not, that’s fine too.”

Percy sighs, leaning back onto the couch and looking over at me. “I just felt like I disappointed you, I guess,” he admits softly. I almost laugh because Percy certainly isn’t the disappointing one in this relationship. But then he meets my eyes, his gaze so soft and vulnerable and trusting that I have to look away.

I take Percy’s hand. “Darling,” I say, pressing a kiss to the back. “How could you ever?”

My relationship with my mother has always been a few steps from nonexistent. It’s not that I have anything against my mother. It’s rather the opposite. My mother and I have always coexisted, with her occasional shows of motherly obligation. She was never absent, but she was never present. I’m used to silence from her. We haven’t even spoken since the wedding.

So I’m surprised when, out of nowhere, she calls me.

It’s a Thursday night. Percy and I are sitting together on the couch, my legs in his lap. Percy’s school is having a long weekend for fall break so I managed to talk him into setting aside work for the night. I frown when I get a call. It’s late and the only calls that I ever get are work-related. I consider ignoring it but when my mother’s name flashes on the screen, I can’t help but be curious.

“Henry,” my mother says as soon as I pick up. She sounds relieved.

“Mother?” Percy looks up at that, gaze inquiring. I just shrug.

“I—I need a favor from you.” She sighs shakily. “Will you take Adrian for the long weekend?”

“Of course.” I can’t help the hopefulness that grows at the thought of seeing Adrian. But I’m still confused. “What for?”

“He…he…” She inhales sharply. “I just think it would be good for him to see you again.”

It’s a blatant lie. She doesn’t want to tell me why. I’m not sure I want to know. “Alright,” I finally say. “Now?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No, none at all.”

She sighs again. “Thank you, Henry. I’ll bring Adrian to you in about half an hour.”

“Okay.”

Mother starts like she’s going to say something but doesn’t. She hangs up.

Percy turns to me again when I set my phone down. “What did your mom need?” he asks. His tone is light, curious, but I see—and ignore—the worry in his eyes.

“We’re taking Adrian for the weekend.”

“Oh.” Percy’s frown only deepens. “Why?”

“She didn’t say.” Percy is giving me one of those meaningful looks that I hate so much. I stand, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “They’ll be here in half an hour, so I’m just going to…” I don’t even bother finishing the thought, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. I slip out before Percy can rope me into a conversation.

Thirty minutes later, I open the door to see my mother and Adrian. Mother looks somber, tired, but it’s Adrian’s face that makes me feel like I’ve had all of the air knocked from my lungs. Though I tried to ignore them, I had my suspicions. But nothing could have prepared me for the large, angry, purple bruise on Adrian’s cheek.

I look up at my mother again. She avoids my gaze, looking distressed. Suddenly, I resent her. I don’t often feel angry towards my mother, but this is different. _Why are you letting this happen?_ I want to demand. _How are you letting this happen_ again _?_

But I don’t. Despite my long history of mouthing off to my family, I know that there’s a certain time and place for certain conversations. Right now, in front of Percy and Adrian, is neither the time nor the place for _that_ conversation.

Frankly, I don’t think we’ll ever _have_ that conversation.

Percy appears behind me. He puts a steadying hand on the small of my back. Mother glances at him but I can’t tell what she’s thinking. I still wonder how she feels about him. Despite going into my wedding blind, she barely reacted to me marrying a man. My mother knows how to maintain pretenses, though, so I’m never sure.

“I’ll pick him up Sunday night,” Mother says softly. “Is that alright?”

I nod, still not trusting myself to speak before I say something cruel.

She turns to Adrian. “I’ll see you Sunday, dear.” She bends down and kisses the top of Adrian’s head before she leaves.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, I pull Adrian into a hug. “You okay, Goblin?”

Adrian doesn’t say anything, just shrugs, leaning against me. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk so I just hold him. I need him to know how much I love him. How like me he is now and how unlike me I want him to be when he’s older. I need him to know that he has a home in me so, when he’s older, he doesn’t try to find it in the arms of strangers that are never going to give him what he’s looking for.

When I pull back, I study Adrian’s face. I examine the bruise, pushing his hair out of his face. It’s just one bruise. It’s not awful. It’s not as if Father _beat him._ But it is a bruise, more than a mere cuff. My father didn’t hit me like that until I was in middle school. It makes me worried for Adrian. I want to know what happened, if it’s happened before, but Adrian is in no state to tell me.

“Did you eat dinner?” Adrian nods. “Do you just want to go to bed?” He nods again. I guide Adrian to the living room to find Percy already making a place for Adrian to sleep on the couch. He waves off my thanks.

Adrian readies for bed and all but passes out on the couch. I’m sure it was a long day for him. Once I’m sure that he’s asleep, I retreat to our bedroom. Percy is there, sitting in bed with a book. He’s been giving Adrian and I space. He looks up and sets the book aside when I enter. “Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey,” I echo, suddenly feeling just as wrecked as Adrian.

“Are you okay?” Percy asks cautiously.

“What? Me? I’m fine.”

I can tell Percy thinks otherwise, but he doesn’t push it. I’m grateful for it. I climb into bed with him and he slides an arm around my waist, but neither of us says anything more.

Friday is better. I stay home from work to be with Adrian (the fact that I haven’t been fired for this many call-ins alone is proof that nepotism is alive and well). Adrian shows no sign—other than the bruise—of the night before. I still have questions that I’ll probably never ask. I just can’t bring myself to mention it to Adrian when he’s in such a good mood compared to yesterday. Right now, he’s in the kitchen with Percy and I, helping make dinner. He’s warmed up to Percy remarkably fast. Percy’s fantastic with him, of course. I barely even have to help because Adrian is so fascinated by watching and eager to help Percy chop vegetables. Percy walks Adrian through it with the same amount of teacher’s patience that he used with me.

At least Adrian will be better equipped than I am.

I watch them, perched on the kitchen island. “Looking good over there, you two!”

Percy snorts, glancing back at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping?”

I wave a hand dismissively. “I’m supervising. You and Adrian have got this completely under control.”

“I guess you’re right. Adrian’s a better assistant than you anyway.”

Adrian grins, clearly pleased by this.

“You aren’t going to bait me into helping you, Mister Newton.”

Percy grins too. “I would never dream of it, Mister Newton.”

After dinner, Adrian proposes building a pillow fort. I’m not totally sure how to do that, but who am I to deny Adrian anything? Luckily Percy has pillow fort knowledge and we’re able to construct one for him. We sit in the fort and watch _The Lion King_ because it’s Adrian’s favorite movie. Halfway through, he falls asleep curled up against my side and I tuck him in on the blankets that make up the bottom of the fort.

Percy left earlier to shower, so it’s just me and Adrian. I sit there and let myself really study him.

I don’t think I could pinpoint when Adrian became so important to me. I didn’t care for him much at first (hence the nickname). I’ll admit that I’ve never really liked kids and, when Adrian was just a tiny wailing baby, he wasn’t the exception that he is now. But I watched him grow up and cry over baby birds and stumble over his words and try to cheer me up when he found me hungover and hating myself on my bedroom floor. Not that he realized what was happening at the time. But I realized someone had to protect him, with his soft demeanor and good intentions that the rest of our family sorely lacked. I wasn’t the best older brother to Felicity when we were growing up but I like to think I’ve done better by Adrian.

But it seems that I haven’t done enough.

I rest my chin on my knees, watching Adrian sleep. Staring at the angry purple mark on his face. I’m not the kind of person that cries at every minor thing, but something about the sight almost brings me to tears. I always _thought_ I could protect Adrian or, at the very least, keep my father’s attention away from him. He’s only seven. He’s more well-behaved than I ever was as a child. He’s definitely more well-behaved than I am now. It’s not hard to keep the focus on myself. And still, my father found something to be angry about. Because one punching bag son wasn’t good enough. I press my forehead against my knees, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t look at it anymore.

Seeing him this way hurts more than any bruise my father ever doled out.

There’s a rustle to the left of me. I look up again to see Percy slipping into the fort, two mugs in his hand. He hands me one. I take a hesitant sip, surprised to find that Percy brought me coffee, made as I always make it.

“Thanks,” I say softly.

Percy nods and settles in next to me, our sides pressed together. He studies me for a long moment. “You okay?”

“No,” tumbles out of me before I can stop it, tripping on a sad laugh.

Percy nods again. I don’t have to explain why. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“I don’t…I don’t know,” I say. I laugh again even though nothing is funny. “I don’t know what to do, Perce. I can’t protect him. But I can’t just sit here and watch…” I stop, getting too choked up.

Percy studies me, pity plain in his eyes. I can’t even be mad at him for it. I’m pitiful. “You’re doing what you can.”

“And it’s not enough.”

Percy falls silent. He takes my free hand and brings it to his lips, which does nothing good for my rising emotions.

“Uh, thank you,” I manage, “for…helping with Adrian today.”

Percy shrugs. “It was the least I could do.”

The least he _could_ have done was stay out of it entirely, but I’m not about to argue with him. We both sip from our mugs in silence. Knowing Percy, he’s probably drinking tea. He kisses the back of my hand again like it’s a habitual gesture.

He’s so gentle-looking here in the soft light, crouched in this pillow fort with me in his pajamas, curls pulled back in a messy bun, glasses perched on his nose. He offers a soft smile when he notices me staring.  
It hits me then how much I don’t deserve him. I’ve done nothing to earn his kindness. He doesn’t have to be here, holding my hand and steadying me. We’re husbands in name more than anything else. If Percy decided that the mess that is me and my family was more than he signed up for, I could hardly fault him for that. But here he is at my side anyway.  
I realize I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Percy squeezes my hand. “Adrian is lucky to have you, you know.” I scoff and he bumps his shoulder against mine. “I mean it. You’re a good brother.”

I sigh. “I try to be. Sometimes.”

“I think you’re doing a good job.”

“Well, you’re biased,” I say with a smile.

Percy smiles too. “Maybe. That doesn’t make it any less true, though.”

“I’m sure I’m good in comparison.”

“Comparison to what?”

I sip my coffee before responding. “You know my family. The bar is low.” Percy frowns but I continue. “I’m sorry you have to put up with all of this, though.”

“Put up with what?”

“You know, me _and_ my family.”

“I don’t mind it,” Percy says. I give him a look like _you’re lying and we both know it,_ but he presses on _._ “It’s just part of marriage.”

“Not that you had a say in who you married.”

“I told you I don’t regret it.”

I don’t know what to say to that. I just sip my coffee again.

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

After a brief pause, he asks, softly, “Do you regret it?” When I look back at him, his gaze is piercing but cautious. He’s scared to ask, scared of what I might say.

There are a lot of things I could say. I could say that Percy is the most wonderful man I’ve ever known. I could say that my life is comprised of regrets, but he isn’t one of them. I could say that the only regrettable thing about our marriage is how much better he deserves. But thinking these things and saying them are two very different things. Instead, I lean over and kiss him. He tastes like honey and chamomile. He sets his tea aside to cradle my cheek in his free hand. Percy’s kisses always start delicate, like I’m something he’s scared to break. Though I fully intend to push us past that point, Percy breaks the kiss.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says against my lips.

I smile and kiss him again quick before responding. “No, darling,” I whisper. “I don’t regret a thing.”

A few hours later, I wake up on the floor. Percy and I never left the fort. We kissed for a while, then just laid there entwined in silence. We must have fallen asleep. Percy is still asleep, his arm wrapped loosely around my waist. I manage to slide out of his arms without waking him (which I have a lot of experience doing with others) and check my phone. It’s only three in the morning. I could go back to sleep, but I feel restless.

I retrieve our mugs that we got distracted from earlier and bring them to the kitchen. I contemplate whether I should get a drink or a _drink_ to ease my nerves, but drinking feels like too much of a risk with Percy and Adrian in the next room, despite how tempted I am. Instead, I make another mug of coffee. I sit at the island to drink it. 

I don’t know how to describe how I’m feeling. I’m not sure I _know_ how I’m feeling. It’s a strange combination of the anger and sadness I’m feeling for Adrian and the tenderness I’m feeling for Percy. I’m not sure which I’m feeling more strongly, I just know that I’m feeling a _lot_ . It wears me out. I’m not sure what to do about it, either, because my two favorite distractions are off the table. For the record, celibacy might be _worse_ than sobriety.

Percy helped earlier. He eased the weight in my chest, if only for a moment. But I’m certainly not about to wake him up at three in the morning to, what? Talk? I don’t even know what I would ask from him.

I think about our video diaries. We haven’t made time for them this weekend. Scipio and Helena stressed that they wanted the video diaries to be honest and authentic, but Percy and I are never eager to film them on our worse days. They are going to be on television after all. But maybe they don’t all have to. Maybe I can film one that’s just for me, that will never see the light of day again. I don’t have to send everything to the show. It’s a stupid idea but I have to do _something_.

I pull out my phone and start recording. I already feel ridiculous. I look like a mess on camera, hair wild with circles under my eyes. But I just start talking.

“So, I—I don’t really know why I’m making this,” I start. “It’s not like anyone is going to see it. I shouldn’t even be talking because Adrian and Percy are asleep in the next room and if I wake them up, I’m kind of screwed. But it’s been…a really long past two days. We have Adrian this weekend because…” I trail off. Even knowing no one will ever see this, it’s nothing I want to put into words. “Because of family issues,” I settle on. “It’s hard. Not that watching Adrian is hard. I like having him around. I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances. I’m fucking exhausted,” I say with a weak laugh. “I feel…useless. Powerless, I guess. Like nothing I’m doing is enough.” I laugh again. “I don’t know where all of this is coming from, honestly. Everything just feels…like a mess.

“Not Percy, though. Percy has been amazing. He always is. I don’t know how I would be handling all of this without him. He’s great with Adrian and…he’s here for me. He shouldn’t have to put up with me but I’m glad he does. He’s a damn saint. I’m going to miss him when this ends,” I admit. “But he deserves better than…whatever the hell I’ve got going on.” I laugh at myself again because I don’t know what else to do. I kind of hate this. Putting all of my feelings into words this way doesn’t bring the relief that I thought it would, regardless of who hears it. It just makes them seem more tangible. Yet for some reason I can’t stop, even if it feels terrible. “I originally thought signing up for this show was a mistake, and who knows? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. It’s made some things…harder. I don’t think my father will ever forgive me for it. Maybe I’ll look back on it and regret everything but…I don’t. Not yet, anyway. I think I’ve had a better time with Percy these past two and a half months than I’ve ever had with anyone else, even with everything going on. I think Percy is more than I ever could have asked for. I don’t know what that means or what it’s going to mean. Maybe it won’t mean anything, and that’s fine too. I’m not expecting anything from Percy. I’m just…enjoying this while I have it.”

I sigh again, feeling drained. Maybe I’ll just start subjecting myself to agonizing emotional honesty when I can’t sleep. I’m out of words so I just turn off my camera. I sit there with the video staring back at me. I drink what’s left of my coffee. I seriously consider deleting the video but decide against it. I don’t know why.

I don’t get the chance to agonize over the decision long. Not fifteen minutes later, Adrian slips into the kitchen.

I startle. “Hey, Goblin, did I wake you?” I ask, suddenly worried Adrian heard all of that.

“No,” Adrian says. He gets a glass of water and sits beside me at the island.

“Oh,” I say. “Why are you up so late?”

Adrian shrugs. “I woke up and got thirsty.”

“Is Percy still asleep in there?” I ask. Adrian nods. Then, out of curiosity, I ask, “What do you think of him?”

“Percy?”

I nod.

Adrian ponders that. I’m not sure why it requires so much thinking but he considers it for a long minute before declaring, “I like him.”

I smile. “Yeah?”

Adrian nods, then pokes me. “Do you like him?”

“Of course I like him.” I nudge Adrian in return and he laughs. “He’s my husband.”

“Then why are you only married for six months?”

I laugh a little despite myself. “Well, we might be married for longer or we might not. I don’t know yet.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Percy and I haven’t decided yet.”

“But you like him,” Adrian persists.

I ruffle his hair, earning a sound of protest. “It’s a little more complicated than that, Goblin,” I say, though Adrian still looks puzzled. “Do _you_ think we should stay married?”

After another, shorter bout of pondering, he nods again. “I like him,” he says again. “Mother likes him.”

“Does she?” I respond flatly. I know Adrian is closer to our mother than Felicity and I ever were. Outside of curiosity, I couldn’t care less what she thinks of my marriage.

“Father doesn’t like it when we talk about him, though.”

I laugh humorlessly. “I’m sure.”

Adrian hesitates before he asks, “Is…is Father mad at you?”

I hesitate too. It’s a strange balance, trying to watch out for Adrian while trying to keep some semblance of peace in our family. But there’s no point in lying. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Is that why you aren’t allowed to come home?”

I stare at him. “Why do you know all this?”

“Father talks a lot when he thinks I’m not listening,” Adrian admits.

I laugh. “Aren’t you sly?”

A smile flickers across Adrian’s face, but he still seems unhappy. “When are you going to come home again?”

I sigh. “I don’t know.”

Adrian frowns. “I miss you.”

I put my arm around him and he leans into my side. “I’m sure we can talk Mother into bringing you over more often. Or I can just take you. I’ll get in trouble, you won’t.”

“But you’re already in trouble,” Adrian protests.

“Exactly, so what’s a little more?”

The rest of the weekend passes too quickly. Sunday night arrives and my mother comes to take Adrian back. Adrian gives me a long hug before he leaves. I don’t want to let him go. I stop my mother before they leave.

“I was talking to Adrian,” I say. “Do you think he could come over like this more often? Since I’m still not…” I trail off.

I truly expect her to shoot me down and make some kind of excuse. But she smiles, wearily, and says, “I’m sure it can be arranged.”

We say our goodbyes and they leave. The door shuts with what feels like finality. I was able to shelter Adrian for a few days, but now he has to go back to our father anyway.

No matter what, we always have to go back to him.

Suddenly, it’s like all of the fear, the despair, the tears that I spent the weekend fending off overwhelm me. I suck in a sharp breath. _Don’t start crying, not now, not over this._ But then Percy is at my side, gently touching my arm and saying something comforting that I can’t make out, and I break. Hot tears fall that I hurriedly try to wipe away, sniffling. I can practically hear my father’s voice in my head telling me to stop crying, pull myself together, be a man. Percy pulls me close and lets me cry into his shoulder. He holds me like I’m made of smoke. I would say that I’m tired of being treated like a breakable thing, but let’s be honest. That’s exactly what I am right now.

“Monty,” Percy murmurs.

“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I start to pull away.

“No, no, I mean—” Percy stops, taking me by the arm. “I don’t want to overstep but…don’t you think it would be better for Adrian if you told someone? About your father?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“But, Monty—“

“It’s not!” I say vehemently. I look up at him. “Believe me, I want to get Adrian out of that house more than anything. If I could tell someone, I would. I’ve tried, okay? You think I haven’t tried?!”

Percy doesn’t respond or meet my eyes.

“It doesn’t do anything. It won’t make anything better and it will only make him angrier.”

I did try to tell someone about my father once. It wasn’t that I meant to. In middle school, one of my teachers saw a bruise and was concerned. It was then that I realized that it wasn’t something everyone’s parents did. I told, but I don’t know what strings were pulled or what was said because nothing ever came of it. The beating my father gave me afterward was enough to make me regret it and remind me of my place. How powerless I was.

There’s nothing I can do about my father. There never has been and there never will be.  
It feels like such an undeniable truth that it echoes inside me. Like my father has emptied me, left me hollow with nothing but this reverberating in my bones. A reminder that no matter how far I go or how long I don’t see him, I’ll never be free of him, and neither will Adrian.

It’s hard to get up Monday morning. I’m tired despite the fact that I went to bed so early last night. I just want to stay here and sleep next to Percy, who doesn’t have to go back to work until tomorrow. Mustering the energy to go into work, where I will inevitably see my father—even if we don’t speak—feels impossible. But it’s not like I have any other choice. I force myself to get up and get ready, then go to the kitchen for emotional support coffee. It’s going to take something a little stronger than caffeine to get through the day, though. But as I go to get a drink, I stop. I look at Percy’s collection of pictures. He added a new one above our wedding photo.

It’s me and Adrian, Adrian leaning into my side, both of us asleep in the pillow fort Saturday morning. Adrian’s face is turned so you can’t see his bruise. If I didn’t know any better, I would think it was just a sweet picture of me and my baby brother.

“‘Morning.” Percy appears in the doorway to the kitchen. He stops, following my gaze to the picture. He watches me for a reaction.

I set my mug down and walk over to him. I stand on my toes to take his face in my hands and kiss him, long and slow. Percy is surprised at first but quickly melts into it, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“So you like it?” he asks.

I nod and kiss him again before leaning my forehead against his chest.

Sometimes Percy makes me feel things that I can’t describe, so I don’t try to. I just do this and hope he knows how much he’s starting to mean to me.

“I really hate my job sometimes.” Percy huffs as he collapses into bed next to me at the end of the week. It’s been fairly normal since Adrian went home. We haven’t talked about it since and that’s fine with me. I wouldn’t know how to.

I don’t look up from my phone, just reach over to play with Percy’s hair. He leans into it, half-resting his head against my chest. “What’s wrong, darling?” I ask. Percy got home especially late today because of a meeting at school, so I have a feeling I’m about to hear all about it.

“We have to go to a party,” Percy grumbles.

I perk up at that. It’s been far too long since my last party. “A party?”

Percy frowns at me like I should be as unenthused as he is. “You’re excited about this?”

I nod. “I quite like parties.”

“Even faculty Halloween parties with my middle-aged coworkers?”

I purse my lips. “Significantly less. But I’m still interested.”

Percy rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing exciting. We’re having a faculty Halloween party at the end of the month and my attendance is basically mandatory.” He nudges my side. “Everyone really wants to meet you. Delia basically told everyone about us and now I keep getting questions about my new husband.”

I grin. “Is that so? Should we do a couple’s costume then?”

“A _couple’s costume_?” Percy echoes, disbelieving. “Why?”

“If all eyes are going to be on us anyway, we might as well.”

Percy shakes his head at me. “You’re too excited about this.”

“Should I not be?” I ask, nudging him.

“It’s not very exciting,” Percy admits. “It’s just a bunch of high school teachers at Victoria’s house because the legality of drinking on campus is kind of—” Percy stops. “That’s not going to be a problem for you, is it?”

“What?”

“Just…you know, everyone drinking around you? They’re all wine moms but—”

 _Right, my sobriety._ “Oh, no, that won’t be a problem.”

Percy frowns. “Are you sure? We don’t have to go if you don’t—”

“Nope, you’re too late. I’m already committed to the couple’s costume.”

Percy snorts. “Why are you already so invested in this?”

“Well, if we’re going to be the center of attention, we might as well be the best looking couple there.”

While it wasn’t my first costume choice, we still _are_ the best looking couple, even if we're just in clothes with a few accessories. Percy and I are going as an angel and a demon. It might be a less creative choice, but it’s a classic and I get to wear my red sparkly crop top (and see Percy in a white suit, which I’ll never complain about). I’ll be honest that Halloween hasn’t been a priority in my mind recently. I’ve had other worries. But tonight, I’m not worrying about any of it. Tonight, I’m going to this party with Percy, where we’re still going to impress all of his coworkers.

 _Felicity_ isn’t impressed by our costumes. I took a few pictures of Percy and I in our costumes for documentation purposes and send her one on our way to the party.

**Monty: [image attachment]**

**Monty: wanted to be a sexy demon but he wouldn’t let me**

**Felicity: Every day, I get closer to blocking your number.**

**Monty: what? jealous that i’m the better-looking sibling?**

**Felicity: We can’t all be the smartest.**

**Monty: touché**

“Felicity thinks we’re stunning,” I report back to Percy.

Percy snorts, glancing at me and back at the road. “Did she say that?” he asks flatly.

“No, but I know she’s thinking it.”

Percy just shakes his head, smiling.

We pull up to a nice suburban house covered in Halloween decorations—orange lights, skeletons, headstones, more inflatables than I can count. We have to park in the street because of all the cars already here. Percy and I get out and join the party, hand in hand. The house isn’t packed by any means, but there are more people than I expected at a high school faculty party. There’s a wide array of costumes, some that look like they took days to make and others that are just normal clothes with animal ears (not that I’m in any position to judge, but we also have wings). Everyone is mingling, many with a drink in hand. I spot the drink table and try to figure out my chances of getting one without Percy noticing, but it’s too soon to tell.

Percy and I don’t enter the party unnoticed. A lot of Percy’s coworkers stop us for greetings and introductions, some of them congratulate us on our marriage. We drift until the music department boxes us in.

“You know, when Delia told us about your husband, I almost didn’t believe her,” says a pretty, freckled woman dressed as a mermaid. I think she said her name was Amelia.

Percy’s smile is thin. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re so quiet, always keeping to yourself. I never see you with anyone. I didn’t even know you were _seeing_ someone and suddenly, you’re married! And your husband is _such_ a delight. It’s just…surprising _._ How _did_ you two end up together?”

Amelia says it all with a smile, but I don’t like the way that she says it. Growing up in a family like mine, going to cotillion, tailing my father at business functions, I learned how to pick up on underhanded compliments, though Amelia doesn’t seem to be making much effort to be _underhanded_ . The implication is clear. It’s less how _we_ got together and more how _I_ ended up with Percy. Amelia was _surprised_ that I married him.

Well, I’m not going to let _that_ stand.

“Oh, I was surprised too,” I say. Amelia’s eyes spark but I continue. “I mean, I pined after Percy for _years_ before we got together. I never really thought it was going to happen.” Percy looks at me, confused. I am absolutely pulling this story out of my ass. This is probably something we should have agreed on beforehand if we weren’t going to tell people about the show, but I’m not about to stand here and let Amelia talk down about Percy like that. I squeeze his hand in a _trust me_ gesture and continue. I just hope he hasn’t told a different version of events to someone else. “Percy and I were best friends in high school and I had feelings for him then, too, because how could I not? But he’s so oblivious he never noticed that people just fall over themselves for him.” I nudge Percy, who doesn’t have to fake how flustered he is. “I didn’t think I had half a chance with him. But I finally confessed in college and Percy felt the same way and…now we’re married.”

No one questions my vague, improvised backstory. One woman even says how sweet it is. It looks like all those years of lying to my parents finally paid off. Amelia doesn’t say anything else. Percy and I mingle for a while longer until Percy excuses himself. As soon as he’s out of sight, I take the chance to grab a drink. I linger near the drink table as I drain my cup, mostly because I don’t know anyone here. Normally, that wouldn’t hinder me, but I don’t think I can flirt with any of Percy’s coworkers. So I just stand there and drink cheap wine while I wait for Percy to get back.

But Percy doesn’t come back. When he left me, I assumed that he went to the bathroom. After almost twenty minutes, I start to wonder where he is. I seek out the bathroom and find it empty. I don’t see Percy anywhere nearby. When I poke my head into other rooms, I still can’t find him. It briefly crosses my mind that he might have ditched me here, but that doesn’t seem like a Percy thing to do.

I slip outside and it’s there that I find him, laying on the ground no less. He doesn’t seem to notice me until I’m standing over him.

“Oh, hey, Monty,” he says sheepishly.

“What are you doing down there, Perce?”

Percy sighs. “I wasn’t feeling well so I stepped outside and then I just kind of…” He trails off and makes a vague gesture that I assume is supposed to illustrate how he ended up on the ground, though I’m still not sure.

“You’re not feeling well?” I ask instead. “Like sick or like…a seizure?”

Percy sighs. “I’m not sure. It kind of feels like I’m going to have one, but most of the time I _know_ so…” He trails off. “It’s probably nothing. I just need a few more minutes to pull myself together.” Percy makes no move to get up.

I drop onto the ground and lay down beside him.

Percy laughs. “What are you doing?”

“It looks less weird if we’re both doing it.”

He looks over at me, eyes fond. “You don’t have to stay out here with me.”

“What? And just leave you out here?” I nudge him. “It’ll take more than that to get rid of me. We can lay out here for as long as you want.” I pause. “Your suit is going to be terribly stained, though.”

“This night just keeps getting better,” Percy says flatly.

I snort. “You know, Perce, we can just go home.” 

Percy frowns like this hadn’t even occurred to him. “Isn’t that kind of rude?”

I shrug. “It’s not like they’ll miss us. And let’s be honest, your coworkers aren’t exactly the life of the party,” I say, making him laugh. “Besides, I’d rather your coworkers think we’re assholes than you have a seizure in Victoria’s front yard.”

Percy considers that. “You’re right—”

“As I often am,” I chime in.

Percy doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He just shoots me a look before continuing. “Let’s go home.”

I get to my feet and offer Percy a hand to pull him up. He stumbles a little and I put a hand on his back. “Easy there, darling.”

Percy pointedly regains his footing. “I’m fine, just a little dizzy.”

I just shake my head and lead him back to the car. I drive us home and Percy falls asleep in the car within minutes, leaning against the window. I try to drive as fast as I can because I’m even more inept if Percy has a seizure _in the car_. Luckily, we make it home without any alcohol or epilepsy-related incidents.

I shake Percy awake. “Perce, we’re home.”

He blinks at me. He told me before that he tends to feel sleepy and spacey before and after seizures, so I especially want to get him inside now. But Percy doesn’t move to get up. “Thanks for taking me home, Monty,” he says softly.

“It really wasn’t that—”

“You know you’re a really good husband, right?”

I chuckle. “Let’s get you up to bed.”

“I mean it,” Percy says, suddenly fervent. He takes my hand. “You are.”

I smile and lean over to kiss Percy’s cheek. He turns his head and kisses me instead, holding me close by the back of my neck. It surprises me but I’m not mad about it. When we part, though, Percy is frowning. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Did—” Percy starts and stops. His frown deepens. I watch him, concerned. But after a long pause, he just shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“Are you sure, Perce?”

Percy nods, though his frown remains. “It’s nothing.”

He’s not making much sense to me. I consider pressing, but then I remember Felicity telling me that unexplainable confusion was a warning sign of a seizure, and it reminds me what the main concern is here. “Alright, darling.” I squeeze Percy’s hand before letting go and climbing out of the car. I go to the other side and open Percy’s door for him, which makes him smile and roll his eyes as he gets out.

“Such a gentleman,” he teases.

I grin and take his hand again, leading him up to our apartment. “Nothing but the best for my husband.”


End file.
